Blessings and Curses
by LuckySouthpaw
Summary: Everything comes at a price, but when the magic that Tauriel used to save Kili comes with unexpected consequences, many fear that the price paid is too high. Alive but with a catch, Kili must come to terms with his new existence as he struggles in an ever-changing world. Elf!Kili
1. Chapter 1: A Fateful Healing

**Chapter 1: A Fateful Healing**

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey guys! So this is it, the first re-installment of all my old works. Blessings and Curses is up on AO3, but I had it up on almost three years ago. Some of you might remember it from then. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for taking it down in the first place, that's something I've regretted ever since. In terms of this story going forward, I'm going to re-upload all the old chapters already on AO3 over the course of the next few days, and then afterwards maybe work on some new chapters. But no guarentees, life is hectic right now and I'm pretty busy with both college and the real world. **

**However, I would love to hear what you guys think and look forward to putting this story back out for everyone to see. I re-downloaded it onto Word and oh boy, did a three-year younger version of me not know how to use spellcheck... I plan on getting the AO3 version of this story fixed soon. In the meantime, please enjoy! I'll try to get another chapter up by tonight but these next few hours are my last escape before wisdom tooth surgery tomorrow. **

**Best, **

**-NorthAmericanJaguar**

* * *

_"_ _Of all the herbs most rare and potent, none can compare to the Athelas, better known in the common tongue as Kingsfoil. This small plant, whilst commonplace and unremarkable in both petal and leaf, hath properties most remarkable. In the hands of a King, its powers are miraculous. However, such power is not nigh as that which it is in the hands of an Elf wielding Magik of the most ancient and cathartic sort. An ancient Magik forsworn and forsaken, known by few, long since banned. Magik that penetrates both skin and sinew, tissue and bone, heart and soul. _

_Beware, oh heedless apothecary! Ye know not what ye meddle with, for Magik of the soul is the most dangerous kind and the most unpredictable. Thy troubles shalt be heaped down on thine own head, for there will be none to blame for any such unfortunate happenstance or consequences." _

_-An excerpt from the Lost Apothecary's Handbook, dated from the Second Age_

* * *

The last Orc fell to the ground with a heavy _thud, _Tauriel's arrow embedded in its skull.

The she-elf however, did not relax her position or lower her bow as she scanned the room for further intruders. A young boy, a child from the race of Men, crawled out from beneath the table where he'd been hidden.

"You killed them all." The boy said, looking slightly wondrous and still a little hesitant. Tauriel didn't blame him, he and his siblings had probably never seen Orcs- or elves- before in his short life.

_I wish it were that simple, _she thought to herself, finally tucking away her bow. From the doorway, Legolas called,

"There are others. Tauriel, come!"

Tauriel hesitated. Legolas waited expectantly, eyes dark with the thought of Orcs and hair almost silver in the moonlight. She would be lying if she denied that, in some small corner of her heart, her attraction to him remained. Meanwhile, Kili lay on top of a simple oaken table, semi-conscious and groaning. One of the dwarves—Oin, was it?—had set some odd-looking plate of walnuts under his head, and looked deeply concerned. He glanced up at Tauriel.

"We're losing him!"

Her place was with Legolas, but what about Kili?

_Kili, Kili, Kili, Kili… _A traitorous voice in the back of her mind chanted. _He's going to die if you don't help him, he's going to die… _Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest, fear and grief tightening her throat. If she left now, what would happen to him?

"Tauriel," said Legolas again. To anyone else, he would have sounded even more demanding this time than the last, but Tauriel could hear the unspoken plea woven in. _Are you coming? Tauriel, please. Don't do anything foolish. _

She took a step back.

_No, _came her reply, equally silent. Legolas paused for a moment, torn, and for a heartbeat Tauriel thought he might stay. But then the moment shattered when the cry of an orc tore through the night and in a flash, Legolas was gone.

Only a second later, a second dwarf—this one with a large, floppy brown hat—came running inside, clutching a plain-flowered plant in his hand. Tauriel took it from him.

"Athelas," she murmured, and the floppy hatted dwarf eyed her uncertainly.

"What are you doing?"

Tauriel looked at him, hoping that she looked a lot calmer than she felt. "I'm going to save him." The reply was a lot simpler than the situation truly warranted. Kili had been struck by a Morgul Shaft—which to the dwarves, certainly meant bad news. But they had no real idea the potency of the arrow's poison. There were some things that not even elvish healing could fix. Not unless…

Tauriel shifted the Kingsfoil around in her palms. It felt lush and fresh. _But it is forbidden- such healing has been forbidden for over seven hundred years, what will the Elvenking say to me if he finds out that I used such magic, especially to save the life of a dwarf? _She wasn't as worried about the dwarves, they probably wouldn't know one elvish chant from the next, and would have no idea what _Fea Evaliir_\- also known as soul magic- was.

_It's dangerous, it's unpredictable… _The more cautious side of her, which sounded suspiciously like Legolas, urged. _If done wrong, it could get you killed! _But the stubborn traitorous side of her was even louder. _Kili's life is at stake, and you want to sit around and do nothing? You travelled to Laketown to make sure he would live, and you need to see that through! _

Her mind made up, Tauriel gripped the Kingsfoil harder and said grimly to the dwarves, "Hold him down."

Once they had done so, Tauriel pulled back the cloth covering the wound. It looked infected, all swollen and red, and it didn't look like Kili had taken any time to properly treat it at all. _That complicates things, _the she-elf thought. If Tauriel hadn't been so used to blood, the sight would have made her sick right then and there. Gritting her teeth, she pressed the Kingsfoil against the open wound and began to chant.

Her first guess was right: ordinary elvish healing was not going to work on Kili. His injury was too severe, and had been left untreated for too long. The only option left was _Fëa Evaliir. _

Tauriel closed her eyes, trying to remember everything she knew about using the forbidden magic. _Remember, Tauriel, _the voice of her mother came back to her, unbidden. _That healing is a gift. You must use it. At its core, Fëa Evaliir is simple. Energy is the truest source of healing, and our energy is life. Life flows through us all, all you need to know how to do is redirect the life and energy from your own body into another. Let the light of the Eldar guide you. _

Tauriel's mother had died when she was only a little over a hundred years old, and as Captain of the Guard, Tauriel had always been more of a warrior than a healer. She truly had no idea what she was doing, but knew she had to try. Kili's life depended on it.

She focused, and as she focused, Tauriel could _feel _the sickness and pain radiating from the young dwarf's body. No matter how hard she focused her own energy into her fingertips and attempted to ease the healing essence into Kili's semi-conscious form, the poison fought back. It clung to Kili like flies to a dead warg, working its way again and again through his bloodstream. Everywhere their skin touched her fingers tingled. _If jet black were a color, it would feel like this,_ Tauriel thought. Like pain and despair, she was suffocating, dying—

And still she pressed deeper. She pushed her way through the darkness, searching for the light. A light. _Any _light. She chanted even louder.

Then she found it- the light she was looking for. Tauriel sensed it, buried deep within his chest. She allowed herself to open her eyes. To her surprise, Kili was staring back, though he seemed too disoriented to do anything else. It was as if he too sensed that she'd found his soul, for that was what the light within truly was. Tauriel hadn't known what to expect, succeeding in finding the deepest part of the dwarf's inner being. For the first time, she could understand _why_ _Fëa Evaliir _was outlawed; the soul was a vulnerable thing.

It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, so to speak. Kili's soul was light and warm and young; it felt _golden _if that made any sense, just as the poison from the Morgul Shaft felt like an inky black. His aura was cheerful and should have been strong, but she could feel it weakening rapidly, even as she willed him to live. She could sense within Kili fears and desires, hopes and dreams, all swirling around inside of his soul like shrouded mist. Within her, she could sense her own soul stir, almost brushing his but not quite. She held it back. It felt wrong to be so directly linked to someone who was unaware of it.

_Stay with me, Kili… Stay with me… _Tauriel begged. She was beginning to grow tired, and Kili was at death's door. _I'm losing him! _She realized. Even the forbidden magic was failing….

_Let the light of the Eldar guide you…_

With one final surge of effort, Tauriel drew from the last reserve of energy she had left—her own soul, her very life force. She felt her soul brush up against his. Pressing down with renewed vigor, she channeled the life force into Kili'. The poison—and even Kili's own body—rebelled against the internal invasion. The dwarfishness of his soul rose up to fight against Tauriel's elvish magic, but to no avail. She squashed it down ruthlessly, continuing to pour elven life and healing into his body, and the fight drained out of him.

Kili's eyes flickered feverishly as he looked up at her. "Tauriel?" he asked sluggishly. But before Tauriel could respond, he continued, unaware. "No, you cannot be her. She is far away… She… She walks in starlight in another world. It was just a dream."

She was only faintly aware of his fingers wrapping weakly around her wrist, so weary from the healing she was. Kili's soul, as battered from the barrage of magic as his body was healed by it, was no longer merely accepting the foreign presence, but embracing it. Adapting to it.

Tauriel frowned. That wasn't supposed to happen…

She stumbled back, head spinning and off balance with exhaustion. Meanwhile, Kili's form had begun to lengthen, his ears growing longer and more pointed while his meager beginnings of a beard faded away entirely. But Tauriel had no more time to wonder at what was happening because at that moment she fell, her head striking the ground, and she knew no more.

* * *

Fili closed his eyes in disbelief, turning away from his younger brother. How was any of this possible? The dark-haired stranger laying on top of Bard's table couldn't possibly be Kili, _his Kili, _the younger brother he had sworn to protect, the most rambunctious member of the Company, but most of all… his best friend. This stranger, tall as any Man—if not taller—_couldn't _be Kili.

For starters, Kili was a Dwarf.

"We haven't lost him, lad." The golden-haired heir felt the weight of Bofur's hand clasp his shoulder, but the touch didn't feel anywhere near reassuring. Not when Kili had been… had been… _I should've done something to save him, _Fili thought miserably to himself, refusing to finish his previous train of thought. _If only I'd been the one to climb out of my barrel to raise the gate in Mirkwood, or- or if I could've done something to stop that Orc from firing that arrow…_

It seemed that Bofur took his silence as a sign to go on. "We haven't lost him," he repeated, but to Fili's ears, it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well. "He's just different now… He's an…"

"An Elf." Fili managed to reply. There was a terrible moment of silence.

The two fatal words were finally spoken.

Mahal, it sounded ridiculous. Kili the _Elf? _It sounded like someone's idea of a bad joke or perhaps a very, very bad dream. Certainly not reality. Fili snuck another glance at the strange Elf lying unconscious next to him.

It—no, not it, _he, _Fili reminded himself, this was _Kili _he was talking about—stirred slightly, and for a moment all three of the Dwarves tensed, half hoping and half fearing that the Elf was about to awake, but the moment quickly passed. Letting out a soft sigh, he shifted his weight into what Fili hoped was a more comfortable position—because in all honesty, that wooden table didn't look the slightest bit comfortable. The steady rise and fall of his chest assured Fili that the Elf was still in a deep sleep.

_Not an Elf, _Fili scolded himself. _Kili, your brother. Kili, Kili, Kili! _

As much as it pained him, Fili could see very little of his brother in the being before him. The stranger certainly had Kili's dark, slightly unruly hair, several strands overshadowing his brow. He also had Kili's clothes—the pants and no doubt the shoes that no longer fit the Elf's taller, more limber build. He'd grown into Bard's red shirt quite nicely, but as for the rest of his clothes, Kili would definitely need to change out of them. Fili cast an uncertain glance at the elleth who had healed his brother, who after losing consciousness herself, had been propped up rather haphazardly against a nearby wall (with the combined efforts of Bofur and Oin- they'd quickly learned that despite their deceptive grace, an unconscious full-grown Elf was _heavy_).

Had she known that in saving Kili's life, she would be taking him away from them? Fili doubted it; from the little he had seen, it was clear that his little brother was fond of the Elf—perhaps too fond—and now, seeing that she'd come all the way to Laketown to save him, it was also clear that those were feelings that she reciprocated. She would never do anything to willfully hurt him.

_Oh, Kee… What have you gotten yourself into? _

"I know little of Elvish medicine, and I'd considered it a great honor to watch such healing at work. I wished to see how it would manage to heal Kili," Oin's voice was heavy with regret. "But now all I wish is that I'd been a little less curious, and a little more cautious."

Fili looked directly at the elderly healer, disbelief shining in his eyes. "You mean, this was for nothing? You could've saved Kili's life, without the help of the Elf?"

"You misunderstand me," said Oin with a sad shake of his head. "Kili was fading fast; there was nothing to be done. Initially, I believed that I may have been able to treat him. That is why I stayed behind. But by dusk, I realized that that there was nothing I could do. For better or for worse, that elf," he nodded briefly in Tauriel's direction, "saved his life."

"He's going to panic when he wakes up," said Fili, casting another anxious glance at his brother. A soft smile flitted across the unconscious former Dwarf's face, and he murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 'Tauriel.' _Tauriel. Was that the Elf woman's name? _Fili frowned. Was his brother actually… dreaming about her? _Kili, please don't tell me this means you actually _like _the Elf! _

"What was that?" asked Bofur.

"What was what? I didn't hear anything," said Fili, perhaps a little too quickly, covering for his brother. "What I said was 'he's going to panic when he wakes up.'"

"Aye, that he is." agreed Oin. "But for all we know, this may not be permanent. The Elf who healed him may know how to reverse this. Until then, we'll just have to remain patient until she wakes up."

_That's a lot easier said than done, _Fili thought grimly. _What will we do if Kili wakes up before she does? What will we say? How do you explain to someone that they have become something that they are supposed to hate? _But the question he asked was one even more pressing. "Kili is my brother, no matter what. But how will Thorin react?"

A groggy voice caused all three Dwarves to jump.

"How will Thorin react to what?"

* * *

Consciousness returned to Kili in bits and pieces. At first, all he could remember was searing pain. Terrible pain, like none he'd ever endured before, spreading from his injured knee to the rest of his body. Then there was the jarring sensation of falling on the ground when the Orcs attacked. Wait, was it the Orcs that attacked? Kili was pretty sure it was the Orcs, but for all he knew, it could've been anything. The poison in the arrowhead made him feverish and hazy.

Then he'd seen Tauriel, and that part he was pretty sure was a dream. For one, Tauriel lived in Mirkwood, what would she be doing in Laketown? And even if she somehow had followed the Company to Laketown and healed him, it didn't make any sense for her to be _glowing _as she did so.

But as impossible as it was, it felt so _real._

In his dream, she'd placed her hands on his wound and began to chant. And as she chanted, he'd began to feel rather… strange. Something other than the sickness had crept into his body and seeped into his very bones. At first, it had felt nice- all light and warmth and distinctly _Tauriel. _But then, it had grown overpowering, tearing him apart from the inside, burning and blinding him with its brightness.

Come to think of it, he could still feel the warm little light in his chest. It no longer felt uncomfortable, but welcoming and natural. He smiled softly to himself. It was nice. Like Tauriel.

It was then that he became aware of the conversation going on around him.

"…May not be permanent," came the slightly rough but unmistakable voice of Oin. "The elf who healed him… we'll just have to be patient until she wakes up." Oin's voice drifted in and out of focus. What were they talking about? Kili tried to ask, but his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. He wanted to wake up, to reassure everyone that he was alright, but his eyelids felt so heavy…

The next voice however, Kili understood perfectly.

"Kili is my brother—" _Fee! _Kili wanted to embrace him. _Of course I'm your brother, why wouldn't I be? _Unaware of the former Dwarf's awareness, Fili continued. "—no matter what. But how will Thorin react?"

_How will Uncle Thorin react?_

There was something wrong with him.

Panic surged inside of Kili, and he struggled to push it down. _What's wrong? _He wanted to cry out. _What's so bad that Uncle wouldn't accept me for it? _Was he blind, and that was why he couldn't open his eyes? Or… Or had his injured leg been amputated, and he would never be able to walk again? But as far as Kili knew, Thorin had never disowned or discriminated against anyone based on an injury. In fact, it was his uncle who taught Kili to _respect _those severely injured in battle. Maybe Fili was simply worried that Thorin wouldn't be pleased to learn that Kili'd been healed by an Elf.

_That's it, _Kili told himself. _My dream wasn't a dream; Tauriel was really here. Uncle isn't going to be happy to hear that an Elf saved my life._

All the same, he struggled to open his eyes. _Come on, _he coaxed his stubborn eyelids. _For Durin's sake, work! _

His eyes flew open, the lighting inside Bard's almost blinding. Squinting, he managed to ask in a voice thick and heavy with sleep, "How will Uncle react to what?"

Kili watched at the color drained out of his brother's face. Fili took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant, and took a step closer to him. "Kee," he said slowly. Kili stiffened. Fili hadn't used that nickname so publicly since they were children. "No matter what has happened, you will always be my brother."

Kili whimpered. "Fee, you're scaring me." He struggled to sit up, but Oin gently pushed him back down.

"Easy, laddie. I don't think you're ready for that quite yet."

The young prince ignored him and sat up anyway. His head ached, but the wrongness of the situation hit him like a thunderclap. Even though he was not standing up, it was clear that he was taller than Fili. Taller than any of the Dwarves for that matter.

"What's going on?" He asked, hating how frightened and demanding he sounded.

Fili gingerly put a reassuring hand on his arm. "An Elf woman came and healed you, brother. You were dying."

"Tauriel," Kili said softly, happy that part hadn't been a dream after all. "But what's going on? Why is everyone acting like someone just died?"

His brother took a shaky breath. "She saved you, Kili, but at a price. You're no longer a Dwarf… You're an Elf."

"What?"Kili stared disbelievingly at the three Dwarves before him. _No. No, no, no, no, no…. _ It all made sense, in a horrible, twisted sort of way. Kili raised his hands in front of his face, staring at the elongated, elegant digits in shock. The nails were still dirty and cut to the quick, but unfamiliar. They weren't _his_ hands.

The fact that he was taller. The strange warmth in his chest. It was magic. Desperately, he looked to Fili. "I don't believe you." His voice shook. "You're lying!" The room rocked and he rocked with it. Fili's reply was soft, barely above a whisper.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Kee."

_No, no, no, no, no!_

With a morbid fascination, he brought the foreign hands up to his face, tracing its contours. His face felt strange, more angular. His cheeks and jaw were now as smooth and soft as the skin of a newborn dwarfling, all traces of the scruffy beginnings of a beard gone. His hands roved higher. Kili dreaded what he would find, but found himself unable to stop. Fingertips traced over the long, sensitive pointed ears, and Kili could hold it back no more.

He was inexplicably and undeniably an Elf.

Fili was right, what was Thorin going to think? His uncle wouldn't want an _Elf _as one of his heirs!

Kili could see his own grief reflected in the bright blue eyes of his brother. Looking back on the moment later, neither Oin nor Bofur could tell who acted first—the second Fili opened his arms was the second Kili flung himself into his brother's embrace where they stayed for a while, rocking ever so slightly back and forth.

"It's going to be alright," murmured Fili. "Everything's going to turn out okay."

Oin and Bofur exchanged uncertain glances. _Would it?_


	2. Chapter 2: Tauriel Wakes Up

**Author's Note: Hey guys! Welcome back to the second part of this story. Thank you so much to all of you who followed, favorited, and reviewed. I apologize for getting this chapter up later than planned, but the wisdom tooth surgery really knocked me down harder than expected. Once again, this chapter is identical to the one found on AO3 (albeit with a few minor edits) and the third one should be up shortly.**

**lindir's gaze: Yes, how will Thorin react is a VERY interesting question, and one you're going to have to wait a little while longer to find out... One hint though: with Thorin under the thrall of the gold sickness, it's NOT gonna be good. ;)**

**Without further ado, I give you Chapter 2! **

* * *

The house shook as another roar sounded in the distance.

"Smaug," said Bofur grimly. "We've got to get out of here. Quickly."

Kili made a move to get off the table, but fell with a startled yelp as soon as his feet touched the ground. The former Dwarf looked pained as he staggered to his feet, gripping the table for support.

"Are you alright, brother?" asked Fili. He put a steadying hand on Kili's arm—not that it would do much good if the Elf did stumble, Fili supposed that with Kili's larger size, he may just end up dragging his brother down with him. He gripped the sides of the table so hard his knuckles turned white, which Fili pretended not to notice. Taking a few labored breaths, Kili nodded.

"I'm fine," he said, "I—I can't walk right with this body." _With this body. _As if the body he was currently in was not his own. Shuffling his feet underneath him, Kili drew himself to his full height and loosened his grip somewhat. However, as he continued, he looked distinctly embarrassed. "But… I think I split my pants."

"I'll ask Singrid if Bard has any to spare. And shoes too," Fili added with a pointed glance at his feet. Kili followed his brother's gaze, gasping at what he saw. His boots—his favorite, worn leather boots—were destroyed, split along the seams by much longer Elven feet. The former dwarf blinked in surprise—those couldn't—_how could those be _his _feet? _But to his dismay, when he willed his toes to move, the Elvish toes sticking out of the boots wiggled as well.

Fili encountered Singrid while racing up the stairs, both moving so quickly that they nearly ran into each other.

"I need to borrow some pants and a pair of boots," said Fili.

Singrid's eyes narrowed in confusion as she peered around the blond dwarf. "What for?" She asked. "You're a dwarf. And who's that by the table down there?"

Tilda poked her head out from behind her older sister. "I think he's an Elf," she informed Singrid with an air of childlike certainty. Her eyes widened. "But I don't remember him. Do you think he'll bring good luck like the Dwarves were supposed to? Do you suppose he got here through the toilet as well?"

"That's Kili." At both girls astonished and disbelieving glances, Fili knew he'd need a better explanation, but a better explanation would have to wait. Smaug was near enough now that they could hear wingbeats; the whole house seemed to quake under the rage of the dreaded dragon. Singrid glanced anxiously at the ceiling then nodded, dashing back upstairs. A moment later she returned carrying a brown bundle and a pair of muddied boots.

"Here," she said, tossing them to Fili. "Will these work?"

Fili nodded. "Thank you."

He brought them back to Kili, uncrumpling the pants and doing the best he could to scrape the mud off the boots. "Here, put these on."

The last thing Kili wanted to do was put on Bard's extra clothes. To put on the extra clothes was to confirm the reality of his situation, to acknowledge his change in size. It almost felt like a betrayal, casting off his Dwarven belongings.

But in the end, that is what the newly formed Elf had to do. _This isn't permanent, _he told himself, hastily slipping on the pants before Singrid and Tilda came hurdling back down the stairs. Next he pulled on the boots, uncertain of whether to be disturbed or relieved by the fact that they fit almost perfectly. _Oin said Tauriel will be able to fix it, once she wakes up. I am not an Elf. This is not my body. I am a Dwarf of Erebor. I am a Son of Durin! _It rapidly became a mantra as he fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

They climbed into the small boat tied to the side of the house overlooking the harbor, all of them- he, Fili, Oin, Bofur, Singrid, Tilda and Tauriel. Well, not so much Tauriel; the unconscious elleth was half carried, half hauled into the boat. Kili had tried to help, but only succeeded in tripping over his own too large, too foreign feet. Wordlessly, Fili had guided him back to the boat, allowing his younger brother to lean against him like a crutch.

Kili wasn't sure whether to scream or cry at his inability to be useful—weren't Elves supposed to be graceful?

He realized his slip-up almost too late: _I am not an Elf, _he hastily amended_. _Elves were supposed to be graceful, but he was _not_ an Elf.

Laketown was in shambles, the bitter cold of the crisp winter air contrasted sharply with the blistering heat of dragon fire. People scattered like leaves on the wind; the screams of unfortunate souls caught up in the inferno mingling with the cries of men calling to one another, children crying for their parents and mothers wailing for their lost children.

Tilda hunkered closer to him, drawing her knees up against her chest. "I'm scared," she whispered, almost inaudibly. Kili did not respond—what was there to say? They had come to the Lonely Mountain seeking to reclaim their lost homeland and awakened Smaug, the dragon inflicting his ire upon Laketown. His throat tightened. _We did this. This is our fault. We brought this danger to Laketown- me, Thorin, and the rest of the Company. _He rowed even harder.

_The fire was red, its flaming spread… _Unbidden, the Song of The Lonely Mountain rang in his ears_, _the words eerily prophetic.

_The trees like torches blazed with light… _Uncle Thorin's voice was pitched low and gravelly, deep within his chest, and Kili could almost imagine a voice like that coming from deep within the heart of the mountain itself. Only meters away, a Man who caught fire plunged into the Lake. Kili wasn't sure if he ever resurfaced.

_The bells were ringing in the Dale, _

_And Men looked up with faces pale…_

"Where's Da?" Singrid crouched unsteadily, causing the boat to sway slightly back and forth, craning her neck to see over the heads of the Oin and Fili. The dark shape of Smaug swooped overhead again, so close the occupants of the boat could feel the rush of air created by his wings. Behind Kili, Tauriel slept on, oblivious to the carnage all around them.

_Then dragon's ire more fierce than fire,_

_Laid low their houses and towers frail…_

"Look, up there!"

They all looked up to where Tilda pointed. Far in the distance, Kili could see a lone figure—a Man—atop of the ruined bell tower. Tattered cloak billowing in the wind with bow and arrow in hand, the Man stood, braced against Smaug himself.

"It's too dark to see clearly," said Singrid, frowning.

"There is someone up there," added Fili in a doubtful tone, "but your sister is right. It's too dark to tell."

Kili shook his head. "No, I can see—clear as day. It's Bard!"

Bard misfired another arrow, its sharp point glancing off the dragon's hide as if nothing. But it was not nothing, and Smaug knew it. The dragon seemed to stiffen, arching his neck and changing direction in midair, flying back towards the archer and the tower. Tilda let out a muffled scream as Smaug descended, his heavy tail striking the tower and sending rubble and debris flying into the lake below. But still Bard held on.

The terrible dragon and the noble bowman disappeared from sight when the boat rounded the corner, hidden by an expanse of tall buildings.

"Do you think Da's alright?" Tilda asked softly, looking wistfully off into the direction from which they'd came.

"I'm sure your Da is fine," came Oin's response, more out of desire to comfort the child than the actual truth. "If anyone can slay that dragon, it's him."

_The mountain smoked beneath the moon, _

_The Dwarves, they heard- _

A startled gasp from behind him jolted Kili from his thoughts. He spun around quickly, one hand already subconsciously reaching for his bow- the bow that he did not possess at the time being and would've been too small to use properly anyway, but stopped in his tracks. He was confronted by none other than a very awake Tauriel.

* * *

Tauriel wasn't fond of strange situations in which she didn't know what was going on, and this was no exception.

She awoke to the sounds of people screaming and the hiss and crackle of flame, to the smell of buildings burning and the feel of cold night air and smoke leaving a bitter taste in the back of her throat. She certainly didn't expect to wake up on a small boat accompanied by two children, three Dwarves from the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and a strange Elf.

Instantly, she sat upright. She had no idea what was happening or what she planned on doing next, but anything was better than doing nothing at all. A pressing sense of urgency nudged her onwards, but she had no idea of what to say. She surveyed the Company again—there were only _three. _Kili was missing, and the very thought caused her heart to skip a beat.

"Where am I, and where is Kili?" Whatever she'd needed to say so urgently, that shouldn't have been it. Such concern for the young Dwarf would only rouse suspicion from the other Dwarves and the unknown Elf, bringing unnecessary attention to both herself and Kili. She was a warrior, a Captain of the guard. Such softness should not have slipped by her.

Yet it did, and there was nothing she could say to take back her words.

Her question however, elicited a very unexpected response.

The Elf in the red shirt—in _Bard's _red shirt, although her mind was still too weary and addled to put two and two together- turned towards her. His eyes, a deep shade of brown, almost black in the dark but shining twice as bright, glinted with an unrecognizable emotion. It was not until the Elf spoke that Tauriel recognized the voice, though the face and form had changed.

He leaned a little closer. "Tauriel," he said. "It's me."

_It was Kili. _

* * *

Instantly, all traces of grogginess vanished from Tauriel's face. The elleth sat upright so suddenly the entire boat rocked, its passengers gripping the sides to steady it. Tauriel, seemingly unaffected by the upset, settled herself into a more poised seating position, legs tucked under her and feet pressed firmly against the baseboards.

_"Kili?" _Her voice caught in her throat. "How did this…" The words died before they left her mouth. Kili looked miserable, shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around himself as if warding off a chill. _As if, _the Captain of the Guard told herself. If Kili was truly as Elven as he looked, then the cold—at least not a mild cold- would have much effect on him. No, the biting pain Kili suffered from was one from within—for not only did the dark-haired Elf look miserable, he looked lost.

"I woke up like this," Kili said numbly. "Long legs, no beard, stupid ears…"

Tauriel wanted to argue that Elf ears were _not _stupid- she could hear the sound of a twig snapping from half a mile away, thank you very much, but decided that it probably wouldn't be best for her first real conversation with Kili since Mirkwood to be an argument. Kili's delirious ramblings at Bard's place didn't count for anything.

He shifted his own weight slightly, his saddened grin reminding Tauriel more of a grimace. "Surprise. Do you still think I'm tall for a Dwarf?"

It was intended as a joke, but neither felt like laughing.

_Do you think I'm tall for a Dwarf?_

There was nothing Dwarven left about Kili. That wasn't to say that he _wasn't _Kili; Tauriel could easily see the shadow of the Dwarf behind the face of the Elf. He was still distinct and recognizable, the dark eyes and hair virtually untouched. Perhaps his brows remained thicker, denser than those of a typical Elf, his skin a little less smooth. But everything that truly mattered in the appearance of an Elf—the ears, the build, the stature—was there. The Kili seated before her was not one who looked as if under an enchantment. He looked as though he'd _always _been an Elf.

Kili could see the understanding dawn in Tauriel's eyes, and felt a myriad of conflicting emotions. On one hand, she was _Tauriel, _his rescuer, his… friend. He felt strangely reluctant to call her anything more, for what was there to call her? _Crush _made him sound like he was back in his thirties and liking a female for the first time. _Lover _implied they were something more when they were not.

As Thorin said, she was the enemy. And in saving him, she'd made him the enemy as well.

Kili suppressed a shudder. What was his uncle going to think when he found out what had happened to him?

Hesitantly, as if afraid he would shy away from her touch, Tauriel reached out a hand. She paused only inches from his face, then drew back. _"Fëa Evaliir," _she murmured quietly.

"Feeya Eval-eer?" Kili echoed in confusion, mangling the Sindarin pronunciation. "What's that supposed to mean?"

_"Fëa Evaliir," _Tauriel repeated, more firmly that time. "Soul magic. It's what I used to heal you."

"You preformed magic on his _soul?_" Fili demanded incredulously, whirling around so quickly that his paddle flew up out of the lake, scattering drops of water everywhere and nearly whacking Kili upside the head. The blond dwarf shot an apologetic glance at his brother. "Oops. Sorry, Kili." His attention was quickly drawn back to Tauriel. "But isn't that _dangerous?" _

Tauriel nodded. "Very. I wouldn't have used it if I hadn't believed it would be the only way to save his life."

_I'm going to save him. _It seemed that her earlier words had come back to haunt her. It was hard to believe that they'd came from her lips less than an hour before. She'd been so confident then, so sure of herself. So sure that she was doing the right thing in saving Kili's life. But was it the right thing to do? It was clear that Kili was devastated by his transformation, and Tauriel knew firsthand that if their wish for death was severe enough, an Elf could fade away from grief. To make things even more difficult, Kili was originally not an Elf but a Dwarf.

Tauriel tried to imagine what the roles would've looked like in reverse; an Elf forced into the body of a Dwarf. She did her best to stifle a cringe as she imagined what it would be like, trapped in a squat, aging body, living away from the starlight deep underground, spending the remainder of her days obsessing over gems and precious metals. Any sane Elf would prefer death over such a wretched existence.

Would a Dwarf feel the same way about being an Elf?

_If he lives on, he will lose everything, _Tauriel realized with a sudden jolt. _He will outlive his uncle and brother. _And there was no way to tell yet of how deeply Kili's transformation affected him psychologically. _He may find himself claustrophobic underground, or develop a yearning for trees and open spaces, _she realized with growing horror. _He will live as an outcast from his people. _

She said none of this out loud, but her heart cried out for what she had done to the Dwarf she'd been trying to help.

_Oh Kili, what have I done to you?_

Another frightening roar cut through the night. Their boat tilted ominously back and forth on the inky water as waves struck the starboard side, propelled by the collapse of a fire-ravaged structure only yards away. Oin glanced nervously out over the lake.

"This may be a discussion better reserved for another time."

The shadow of Smaug darted once more over the lake, the occupants of the boat hardly daring to breathe. No one disagreed with the old healer.

* * *

Before dawn, they set up camp.

Bofur was weary—they had to haul the boat far enough up shore it wouldn't drift away at the first opportunity- and ice—cold water sloshed around in his boots. With stiff fingers, he riffled through his coat pockets, searching for his pipe. He felt near frozen and was in need of a good smoke. He soon found his pipe, but belatedly realized that he had nothing to light it with: his matches were too soaked with lake water to be of any use.

Ah, well. At least he hadn't lost his hat.

The toy maker paused on the shore, glancing back to see how his companions were faring.

Oin was the next to trudge to shore, and behind him came Singrid holding tightly to Tilda's hand. Tauriel leapt from the boat to dry ground with irritating ease. Stupid, arrogant Elves with their natural agility. Fili had gone back to help Kili off the boat, the former Dwarf still struggling to maintain balance with his altered gait. Kili still leaned heavily on the blond Dwarf, Fili stoic and uncomplaining as he bore the icy water once again to assist his brother.

At last they were all on dry land, but they weren't the only ones.

Hundreds of Men and women- survivors from Laketown- gathered in groups, some sitting around hastily made fires, others wringing out waterlogged possessions or tending the wounded. Some simply sat down on the ground and stared listlessly off into the distance, shell shocked. The air was filled with the thrum of voices.

One voice in particular rose above the rest.

"If it isn't Bard, the hero of Laketown, the slayer of Smaug!" It was Alfrid, the sleazy advisor of the Master. The man's voice was as slick and oily as his hair. Bard, emerging from the middle of the crowd, scowled.

No amount of wheedling and assurances could earn back the trust Alfrid had lost from the people after his cowardly flight from Laketown, and the angry crowd closed in on him. Too late, the selfish advisor realized that the tide had turned against him.

"This could get ugly," Oin murmured, and Bofur was grateful for their location further down shore, where even Bard took no notice of them. It was unlikely that any would unless they were truly looking. At the sight of their father, Singrid and Tilda took off running.

"Da!" Before anyone could stop them, they launched themselves into his arms.

Bard's expression softened as he held his children close. Turning back to the crowd and Alfrid, the Bowman spoke, and his words calmed the angry sea of faces. The tension over, the Dwarves, Kili, and Tauriel resumed setting up camp.

"Now that that's settled," Bofur sighed, once again attempting to light his pipe, successfully this time. "I think there's a lot we need to talk about."

Tauriel shifted uncomfortably. "Where do I begin?"

"How about at the beginning?"

* * *

Kili had to be dreaming. There was no other explanation.

His head spun, trying to process everything Tauriel had told him as they sat around the fireside, the shore strangely quiet as most of the people of Laketown had long since gone to sleep. Their fire had begun to burn out, but no one moved to rekindle it. It would be morning in a few hours, and the sun would chase away the predawn chill. Besides, it seemed that Tauriel's account had enraptured them all.

Soul magic, forbidden healing, transformation? Kili shook his head. It all sounded like something out of a legend, a far-fetched tale like the ones Uncle used to tell him and Fili when they were dwarflings. Certainly not something that happened in real life.

Tauriel seemed apologetic as she spoke, her eyes constantly seeking out Kili's as she sought to explain. With no little difficulty, Kili gazed back. In part, he felt that he should've been angry at the elleth for what she'd done to him, for what he had lost, but found himself unable to. Maybe it was because her intentions were well-meaning, or maybe it was simply because she was Tauriel.

Either way, Kili couldn't find it in his heart to hate her.

And for that, he wasn't sure whether to be grateful or concerned.

Either way, he knew he had to return things to normal. Soon. Before Thorin or any other member of the Company could see him as a _shirumund _Elf.

"You don't suppose you could… change me back by any chance?" Kili's tone was so achingly hopeful, it even pained him. The doubt in Tauriel's eyes was obvious.

"I can try," she offered, moving closer to him. "But I have never done this before and it may not work. But I will give it my all."

She placed one hand on either side of the dark-haired Elf's temples, right above the ears, and began to chant. It was disconcerting to see how the Dwarf who'd not quite came up to her chest had managed to become an Elf nearly a full head taller than her. She couldn't imagine what it felt like from Kili's perspective.

Kili closed his eyes and focused on the sound of her voice. He could feel a strange, prickling sensation spreading throughout his body, and felt almost dizzy with hope. Maybe this would work after all. The ball of warmth in his chest seemed to swell, growing stronger and larger. Whether it was working with or against Tauriel's magic Kili wasn't sure, but he prayed that it was the former.

It flickered and grew, and as Tauriel's incantation increased in speed and volume, he felt a rush of excitement. This was it, he knew. Soon he would be a Dwarf again, probably looking ridiculous in Bard's oversized clothes, but none of that would matter. He would be himself again, and everything would return to normal—

Abruptly, he realized that Tauriel was no longer chanting.

Slowly, cautiously, hardly daring to breathe, he opened his eyes. To his surprise, he found Tauriel staring back, her face almost inches from his own. Staring _up _at him, not down. The disappointment came crashing down on him, as hard as any physical blow.

He was still an Elf.

Tauriel gently drew back, moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes as she apologized. "I am sorry, Kili. I am so, so sorry."

Kili could swear he could almost feel his heart breaking—if the pesky warmth in his chest hadn't been pulsing more strongly. Self-consciously, he rubbed at it. "Do you always feel like this?" he asked.

Tauriel looked confused. "Feel like what?"

"Like there's a furnace in your chest."

The elleth brought a hand up to her own collarbone. "I… I suppose I do," she said at last, looking thoughtful.

Kili frowned. "What do you mean, you _suppose _you do?"

"I guess I've never really given much thought to it before," Tauriel replied. "I have always felt this. What you feel Kili is the Light of the Eldar, a life force present in all Elves." She carefully refrained from mentioning it was the Light of the Eldar that gave Elves their long life spans and immortality.

The idea of being immortal seemed to have not yet occurred to Kili yet, and she didn't wish to bring it to the forefront of his mind until he was ready. The knowledge would devastate the former Dwarf, who was devastated enough already. Yes, Tauriel realized, he would find out soon enough.

But until that time came, there was no harm in helping to shelter him from the pain.

The group lapsed into an uncomfortable silence until at last Bofur stretched and said with a yawn, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready to hit the hay. Tomorrow we can begin the long walk to the Lonely Mountain. Just think of it, lads. Erebor awaits!"

The rest of the group hastily agreed, and as the three Dwarves and Kili lay down and got situated, Tauriel wondered if it was an appropriate time to mention that Elves didn't require the same kind of sleep that Dwarves did.


	3. Chapter 3: To Be Immortal

**Author's Note: Not much to say this time, other than here's the next chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

Apparently, he was not only an Elf, but an insomniac as well.

Kili sighed loudly and flopped over, turning on his stomach and burying his head in his arms, doing his best to ignore the lush, almost sickeningly sweet odor emanating from the grass and the feel of beardless skin against his arms. The sounds of his snoring companions usually didn't bother him—travelling together meant that they'd all had ample time to get used to each other- but tonight their rumbling was loud enough to wake the dead.

It didn't help that as well as the snoring, he could hear the murmur of Men's voices from further down the river as distinctly as if they were carried by the wind, the cawing of a lone crow, and of course, the constant slap of the lake water as it struck the side of the shore. Somewhere in the distance, a twig snapped as suddenly and violently as a bone breaking.

Never one to be patient, Kili huffed and readjusted his position again, clapping his hands over his ears. Was he _supposed _to hear this well? The former Dwarf supposed he could ask Tauriel, but the elleth was probably sound asleep and he didn't want to wake her up for the sake of a stupid question.

His determination doubled by the thought, Kili resolutely kept his eyes shut and forced his body to remain motionless, taking deep, measured breaths to quiet his mind. If anything though, his thoughts refused to be quieted and he found his imagination even more active than before.

The Lonely Mountain. Erebor. His Uncle.

He would see them all tomorrow.

How many times had he pictured their triumphant return to the mountain, imagined his first step into the kingdom of Erebor? The answer must've been more times than he could count- he and Fili had been raised on tales of the mountain. Their quest was one of legend.

But reality however, had different plans than legend.

In all of Kili's fantasies, he was _with_ his Uncle when they reclaimed their home. Together with Fili, he would explore the great halls and corridors of old, see the Arkenstone, stand on piles of endless treasure. Maybe even find out which room had once belonged to Thorin or his deceased uncle, Frerin. Never in Kili's dreams did he give much thought to the events leading up to reclaiming their home. Oh sure, there would be a long journey to reach Erebor, filled with difficulty and small dangers, but nothing too terrible. And then there was the issue of Smaug- who honestly _did _frighten Kili, but he chose not to think too much about that—Thorin had a plan, right?

But not even in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he _wouldn't _be there when the Company first set foot in Erebor. Nor did he ever imagine he'd be seeing it as an Elf.

Kili's stomach lurched uncomfortably at the reminder and his grip tightened, nails digging into the pointed ears so hard that it hurt.

_Mahal, _he thought, half praying. _I don't want this. I don't want to be an Elf._

But if the maker heard the dark-haired Elf's plea, he gave no indication of it. Mahal was silent, as silent as he was on the day Smaug attacked Erebor and Dale all those years ago. Kili swallowed down the heavy lump in his throat. Mahal created the Seven Fathers, would he even _listen _to the cry of an Elf? The Elves, Kili remembered, were created by Ilúvatar. Should he make his plea to Ilúvatar instead?

_Whoever you are- Mahal, Ilúvatar- I don't care! I don't want to be an Elf!_

What would happen to him then, when he died? Since he was born a Dwarf, would he be reunited with his kin in death? Or would he go to... Kili struggled to remember what happened to Elves when they died, but nothing came to mind. Thorin had never been very encouraging towards the studying of other races, especially the Elves. But death didn't seem as important to the Elves anyway, they were practically immortal.

_Durin's beard. _The Elves were immortal.

_He_ was immortal.

And in that realization, Kili's entire world shattered. He sat bolt upright, the desire to sleep vanished. His chest heaved and his whole body trembled, a cold sweat beading his brow. He looked over at his companions—at his _brother—_sleeping peacefully without a care in the world, oblivious to the dark-haired Elf's turmoil. Fili twitched slightly in his sleep, as if sensing something was amiss, but then settled into an even deeper sleep than before. The only one who noticed him was Tauriel.

"Kili, what's wrong?" Her green eyes were bright and watchful—too alert for one who had just been asleep. She had been awake and nearby, but though in his grief, Kili hadn't noticed.

He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding wildly. "St-stay away from me!"

The cry tore from his throat, raw and frightened. Terrified.

Tauriel stiffened, hurt and confusion flashing in her eyes. "What's wrong?" she pressed. "Kili, you can tell me."

Kili shook. He was trapped, trapped in his own body.

He was going to watch as his Uncle, his mother, even his own _brother_ grow old and die, and be powerless to do anything about it. _Mahal, _Fee could have great-grandchildren one day and he would still end up looking younger than them.

Tauriel was an Elf, she wouldn't understand. Long life was a given among her kind. _She _wouldn't understand how terrible it would be to outlive the ones she loved- because they were all Elves, like her. Kili had never spoken to Tauriel about her family before, but he could easily picture it. She probably had an Elf father and an Elf mother, and maybe even some Elf siblings and an Elf cousin or two. They were probably a happy, normal Elven family that would practice archery and comb each other's hair—or whatever it was that Elves did in their spare time.

Kili was different: his family were Dwarves.

Tauriel wouldn't understand, how could she? Despite how he felt about her, she was in many ways still a stranger. She could offer him no comfort, only the truth.

He needed to escape.

_Now._

Before he fully knew what he was doing, he turned and ran. His feet were against him, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, but he didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing in the world mattered, not when he was bound to the world alone. Branches lashed at his arms and raked across his face as he fled further into the forest, but still he continued to run.

In the end, it wasn't so much about _escape _as it was about _getting_ _away. _

He could never escape.

"Kili!"

Tauriel ran after him, calling his name. The former Dwarf ignored her, and focused on his running. The trail was treacherous; several times he stumbled and fell, the muddy forest floor cushioning his fall but dirtying his tattered clothes further. When that happened, he didn't hesitate but quickly got back on his feet and kept on running.

As he ran, his footsteps got quicker and lighter. Under any other circumstance, Kili would've marveled at the agility he now possessed, but all coherent thoughts were driven from his mind. He ran as hard and fast as he could through the trees and the silvery light filtering through their leaves, feet skimming the ground. Instead of tripping over roots, he began to anticipate and avoid them—leaping over one then veering around another.

"Kili!" Tauriel called again. She sounded closer that time.

Weariness crept back into Kili's body and he began to slow down. As fleet as he was, even an Elf couldn't run forever. Ahead, the land dipped low, forming a hollow. Kili walked by the time he reached it. Tauriel wasn't far behind.

But for once, he didn't _want _to see Tauriel. He wanted to be left alone.

The elleth looked concerned- but also slightly frustrated- by the fact she'd had to chase Kili through the forest, he could see it in her eyes. Mouth dry, he dropped his gaze.

"You did this to me." His voice rasped.

"Yes." A pause, neither condemning nor hopeful. Then, "You were going to die, there was nothing else to do. Are Elves truly so terrible that you can't bear to live your life as one? I didn't know the petty hatred between our races ran so deep."

"I don't hate Elves," Kili grumbled. His gaze darted up and met Tauriel's, but her expression was unreadable, closed off from him.

She had a way of doing that- of drawing him in yet half-heartedly pushing him away at the same time, it was part of what made her so fun to tease, yet so frustrating. Only yesterday morning he'd been sure of what he wanted in terms of his relationship with Tauriel. Next time he saw her, he'd decided, he was going to confess his feelings for her- even give her his rune stone.

Now he wasn't so sure.

"I was born a Dwarf, and I always thought that I was going to die a Dwarf," Kili admitted. He felt he owed Tauriel some explanation, even if it was one as weak as that. "And now I realized that I'm going to live _forever. _If I don't die a painful, unnatural death, that is. But Thorin and Fili… and my Mum… They're—they're going to d… _not _live forever." He looked to Tauriel, dark eyes pleading. "Why didn't you let me die?

_Because I love you, _though Tauriel, _and I didn't want to see you dead. _

But the words died on her lips. Why was admitting the way she truly felt so difficult?

Before, the answer would've been obvious. She was an Elf, and he was a Dwarf. It was as simple as that. But now… standing before her was a male Elf, not a dwarrow. A handsome, if battered and miserable Elf, who also happened to be Kili. She skirted around his question.

"You're bleeding," she said instead, gesturing to one of the branch-inflicted cuts slashed across his cheek. Tauriel felt a flash of guilt at her previous thoughts- Kili was _suffering _from the effects of her magic, what right did she have to think of him in such a way?

Kili ran a hand along the side of his face, seeming absentminded and only faintly surprised when he drew back fingertips coated in blood.

"Let's go back to camp," said Tauriel. She began making her way out of the hollow, pausing and glancing over her shoulder to make sure Kili was following.

He wasn't.

"I'm not coming with you. I… I think I'm going to stay here for a little while. Alone."

The former Dwarf made another feeble attempt to wipe away the blood, but only succeeded in smearing it across his jaw. Tauriel hesitated a moment—it was almost morning, she could see the sun beginning to peer out from behind the trees—then nodded.

Perhaps that was all Kili needed- some time alone.

Tauriel only hoped that it would be enough.

* * *

Fili stretched and yawned, rubbing his eyes clear of sleep. He could still hear the deep snore of Bofur and the lighter, more wheezing sound of Oin beside him. It was early morning, the sun just beginning to shine over the horizon, and it seemed that he was the first one up. Despite only a few hours of sleep and the events of last night, Fili felt well rested.

Deciding to let the others sleep, the blond heir sat up and began re-braiding his mustache. Today they would set off for Erebor-and if they made good time, they would reach it before nightfall. It was important that he looked his best. After he finished his braids, maybe he could collect more firewood so they could cook breakfast.

Having finished one side of his 'do, Fili moved on to the other side, running his fingers through the coarse hair a few times to make sure it was smooth and even. Satisfied with it, he began to braid. His fingers were deft and nimble from years of practice. The hardest part wasn't until the end, where he had to retie the little band in place and fit the bead over it. Usually, watching him fumble amused Kili to no end.

Holding the braid in place, Fili looked around for his brother. Speaking of which, where was Kili?

"Kee?" He called softly, not wanting to wake the others. There was no sign of Kili, only an Elf-sized indent in the grass where he'd lain. Fili tried again, a little louder this time. "Kili!"

No response.

Hastily tying the braid in place—much more sloppily than he usually would've done, Fili was sure- he got up and began to search in earnest for his brother. There were no telltale marks of a scuffle, yet Kili could hardly walk on his own. Where in the world could he have gone to?

He decided to wake Oin and Bofur.

"Have you seen Kili?" he asked urgently, as soon as he'd shoved them rather unceremoniously awake. Bofur blinked blearily up at him for a moment, then scanned the clearing.

"I've been asleep, lad. Personally though, I think your worrin' too much- that Elf lass is gone too, and she's not someone many would trifle with. Kili's safe with her because where ever they went, I'm pretty sure they went there _together. _It might not be best to walk in on them," he said.

At Fili's mortified splutter and protests, Bofur cracked a rakish grin. "I appreciate that you're covering for your brother, but anyone with eyes could see the way he looks at that Elf. The acoustics back in that Mirkwood prison certainly helped too- we're not deaf, you know. Sometimes I think Thorin's the only one who hasn't noticed." Seeing that Fili was still red in the face, he added, "Relax. The last part was a joke. I'm sure Kili and that Elf of his aren't _that _well acquainted."

Oin snorted. "We should hope not."

"All the same," Fili replied, "I want to go look for him."

"Patience," advised Oin. The old healer dusted off his clothes. "They should get back soon enough. If they're not back by breakfast, then we'll go look for them."

Frustrated but seeing no better option, Fili nodded. They divided the chores among them, and the blond dwarf hurried off to get firewood. The sooner they finished, the sooner he could search for Kili.

* * *

Tauriel returned alone.

"Where is Kili?" Fili demanded, noticing the elleth's stricken expression. Tauriel seemed conflicted and weary- the blond noticed a tear at the bottom of her dress that hadn't been there the night before and her eyes had an almost glassy, opaque look to them. The alarm bells going off in his mind rang even louder.

"He's in the forest," said Tauriel, gesturing back in the direction from which she'd came. "He… discovered his immortality. I thought it best to leave him be."

"You left him _alone?" _

Tauriel nodded, downcast.

Fili felt his heart freeze up. Kili was never one to spend much time by himself- he typically preferred the company of others, even in grief. _But this is not a typical situation, _the dark voice in the back of his mind warned. _Kili has become an Elf. You have no idea what he's going through. No one does. This is bad, very, very bad. Most Dwarves would prefer death to this. Mahal, Uncle Thorin would've killed _himself _before having to live life as an Elf. _

But Kili… What would Kili do?

A grief-stricken image of the dark-haired Elf floated in his mind's eye, face twisted with horror at what he'd become, shoulders shaking with great, racking sobs. He could picture the Elf kneeling somewhere in the forest, alone. Could picture him drawing a dagger—or more realistically, the sharpened tip of an arrow—from his quiver, raising it to plunge into—

_No. _Kili would never do that. He wouldn't.

Not Kili, his youngest of the Company. Not Kili, who was always so full of light and laughter, who strove to one day be as majestic as Uncle and flirted with Elves. Death by one's own hand was for cowards and the hopeless.

Not for Kili.

Not for his little brother.

Fili set down his firewood and turned towards the present members of the Company. His heart pounded wildly. "I've got to go find him. He shouldn't be alone. What if he's…."

_What if he's dead? _The unspoken question hung in the air, heavy and stifling. Fili's mind raced as he sought a way to convince the others of this, but before he could, Oin spoke.

"Go to him. If anyone can help your brother, it's you." Uncertainty clawed at the back of Fili's mind, but he merely nodded. His mouth felt too dry to say anything else. Oin bent over and rummaged through his supplies, pulling out a small green vial. Making sure the cork was still securely in place, he passed it to Fili. "Here, take this. It's ground cayenne and lobelia. If necessary, it will help to regulate blood flow and calm the mind."

Fili hastily tucked the vial into his pocket, thanking the old healer.

_Mahal, _the blond Dwarf thought desperately. _I hope I don't have to use it! Hang on, Kili… I'm coming for you. Don't you dare give up on me. Remember your promise to Mum. Stay strong, Kee. Please, stay strong. _

"Follow the forest path, and you should find him." Tauriel added.

There wasn't any time to waste.

As soon as he set foot in the forest, Fili broke into a run. He was no skilled tracker, but even he could see from time to time the footprints embedded in the mud—Elvish footprints. In other places the trail wasn't so clear—the tracks were skidded and muddled, as if their owner had lost balance and fell… several times. Fili could only imagine one of the two Elves being so unsteady on their feet, and his throat tightened.

Another thing that struck him was how far apart the tracks were- a single Elven stride was nearly two of his own. Soon Fili was gasping for air, legs like lead and a stitch in his side. He marveled at how much land Kili and Tauriel had covered. Dwarves weren't built for long distances, he reminded himself, though they were quite formidable while sprinting.

He only hoped he'd be able to catch up to Kili in time.

Fili alternated between jogging and a brisk walk until he reached a hollow at the end of the trail. There he slowed to a stop, resting his hands against his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. He glanced up, still panting. "Kili?"

He caught sight of his brother almost immediately, sucking in a worried breath as he saw the blood on the side of Kili's face. The dark-haired Elf looked terrible- his hair was matted and it was clear he'd been crying- glistening tear lines streaked down his otherwise dirty face. He sat leaned up against the trunk of a gnarled oak tree, arms by his sides.

"Fee?" Something flickered in Kili's gaze. "You came."

"Of course I came," said Fili, unsure of whether he wanted to laugh or cry. Most likely that latter. "You're my brother. I was worried about you."

He came closer to Kili, then sat down beside him. Kili turned towards him, and Fili could clearly see the welt on the side of his face. The bleeding had already ended, the blood caked and dried into a rusty reddish brown.

The cut itself was fairly superficial—deep enough to draw blood, but unlikely to leave a lasting scar. Fili was relieved to see that while Kili had other scratches on him as well (caused by branches overshadowing the path, no doubt. Fili had been smacked by quite a few himself, but hadn't been moving quickly enough to sustain any real injury from them), that one seemed to be the most severe.

"Here, Oin gave me this." The blond Dwarf fished the green vial out of his pocket. "He suspected something might've happened."

Kili fixed him with a doubtful stare. "He thought trees would attack my face?"

Was Kili purposely being difficult? Fili pressed the medicine into his brother's hand.

"Not exactly, no." he admitted. "We're worried for you, Kee. All of us. I remember when you woke up, you seemed to be in so much _pain…_ So _miserable_. We wondered if… if you'd decided to find a way to end the pain once and for all."

Kili drew in a sharp breath. "You thought I was going to _kill myself?" _

Fili nodded, already feeling embarrassed and ashamed that the thought had even crossed his mind. Kili's expression was one of shock and hurt—he should've known that his brother was stronger than that. "We didn't know what you were thinking. All we knew was that you were hurting and that you were alone." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "_I _was afraid, and all of these changes didn't happen to me. For the first time, I couldn't help you. You're my brother, and I promise to always be there."

Kili slumped down even further. "But you _won't _always be there for me. I'm immortal. You're not."

"I know. You were always going to outlive me, Kili," Fili gently reminded him.

"But only by a few years!" The dark-haired Elf protested. "Not a few _thousand _years_! _It's not fair—I never asked to be an Elf, I don't want to be one! I'm scared, Fee…" His dark eyes met Fili's own beseechingly. "Why didn't Tauriel let me die?"

"I'm glad she saved you," Fili admitted. "I know it's selfish, but it's true. I almost lost you—_we _almost lost you. And now you're safe and alive, and part of me is glad. Very guilty and upset as well, but also glad. I don't want to live in a world without my brother."

"Neither do I."

"We'll find a way to reverse this, and then you won't have to ." Fili promised. It felt like a lie as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew nothing about what fate had befallen his brother—even _Tauriel _didn't know, and she was the one who'd healed him. What were the odds Kili would _ever _be a Dwarf again? However, his promise seemed to comfort his brother, so Fili let the moment slip by.

"Thank you," Kili murmured, briefly resting his forehead against forehead against Fili's own. The blond heir allowed himself a small smile.

"The others are pretty much packed up and ready to go," he said, drawing back. "Are we ready?"

"As I'll ever be." An uncertain shrug and a lopsided grin was Kili's response.

"Do you need any help?" Fili asked as Kili rose to stand.

The dark-haired Elf shook his head, pulling himself to his feet with almost catlike grace. "I'm good," he said, "Think I finally figured out the trick to it this morning." He still looked upset, but Fili could see a glint of humor in his eyes. "You're a lot shorter than I remembered."

"And you're very tall," Fili replied. "You're my little brother- _I'm _the older one. I hardly see how this is fair."

"Admit it, you've always looked up to me."

The blond Dwarf gave a skeptical snort. He was relieved to see Kili back in good spirits, and decided to humor his brother. "Only in your wildest dreams, Kee."

"So, I don't suppose you'd want to race me back to camp then?" Kili asked, grinning for real that time.

Fili knew he had no chance of even keeping pace with an Elf, never mind beating one, but he agreed anyway. "Wash up first, then we'll race."

Kili nodded. "Deal."

* * *

Tauriel kept herself busy, tidying up around the campfire before sitting down to mend the torn hem of her dress. She hoped that with enough to do, her mind would be far too occupied to wander, but that didn't seem to be the case. Worry for Kili gnawed at her insides, and her fingers trembled. She kept her ears pricked, hoping to hear Kili and his brother return.

When she heard a soft footfall behind her, she whirled around quickly. "Kili?"

It was Legolas.


	4. Chapter 4: Towards The Mountain

**Author's Note: Thank you to lindir's gaze for continuing to review, it's been a huge support. And thanks to the rest of you who continue have continued reading, following, and reviewing this story so far. We are now at the halfway point of my pre-written chapters; while I don't plan on making any major changes to them, please feel free to let me know what you think! I have things planned out, but I am always receptive to feedback, constructive criticism, and ideas for upcoming chapters. **

**With that public announcement out of the way, here's to Chapter 5! Chapter 6 will be posted tomorrow night. **

* * *

If Legolas recognized the Dwarf's name, he made no comment of it.

"Tauriel." His expression remained as schooled and calm as ever, but voice betrayed his relief at seeing her alive and well. Not for the first time, the Silvan elleth found herself struck by how closely he resembled his father, yet how different he truly was. She was certain that the Elvenking's eyes had never shown with such fondness—as hidden and reserved as it often was—or gone to such lengths to help a friend. Meanwhile, Legolas came closer. "I have been looking for you since the dragon's attack. Where have you been?"

_Why didn't you come find me?_

Tauriel almost told him the truth. She _wanted _to tell him the truth. She wanted to tell him about what a disaster their stay in Laketown had been, how she'd dabbled in forbidden magic, and how _that _went awry and because of it Kili was stuck as an Elf-

But as soon as the words bubbled up, she pressed them back down, feeling strangely reluctant to tell anything to Legolas.

She was saved from saying anything however, when they were interrupted by a messenger astride a white horse, the crest of Mirkwood proudly emblazoned on the clasp of his cape. A messenger from the Elvenking.

"Prince Legolas, I bear a message from your father. He wishes for you to return to Mirkwood."

"Come, Tauriel."

"Not her." The messenger shifted uneasily, but otherwise kept his manner brisk. "The Elvenking has decreed her banished."

The last word cut into Tauriel's mind and heart, sharper and more biting than any blade of steel. Could she have heard the messenger right- _Banished?_

_No... _The Elvenking was harsh, but he wasn't that callous. Was he?

Forget the blade, a knife to the ribs was a merciful way to die compared to this. Tauriel felt more like she was drowning. For years she'd trod on thin ice with King Thranduil- testing his patience, testing his limits- but always confident in her footing. But now she'd fallen through. The messenger's words were ice water, crashing over her head and smothering her cry, driving every other thought from her mind. _Banished? _

_Yes… _He was that callous, wasn't he?

She should've known her King wouldn't have been so lenient in saving the life of a Dwarf. Stricken with her own thoughts, Tauriel nearly jumped when Legolas abruptly spoke.

"You may tell my father that if there's no place for Tauriel, then there's no place for me."

The messenger wasn't the only one surprised by the emotion in the prince's voice. Tauriel felt a rush of affection for her friend, but it was quickly followed by dismay. Mirkwood _needed _Legolas, his being Thranduil's sole heir aside. Who else would be prepared to face the oncoming darkness? Certainly not the Elvenking, looking down his nose at the world beyond. Nor the Men of Laketown, already worn ragged by the rage of Smaug.

"Legolas, it is your king's command." said Tauriel.

What she really wanted to say was _forget the Elvenking, our people need you _or, as horribly weak and clichéd it sounded, _don't go, _I _need you. _For centuries they had fought together, laughed together, _lived _together. No matter what Thranduil said, he was her best friend.

_"Yes, he is my king, but he does not command my heart,"_ Legolas replied softly in Sindarin. His gaze warmed her, but Tauriel felt a flicker of uncertainty. Was there something other than friendship in his eyes? The Mirkwood prince hesitated for a moment, as if there was more that he wished to say, but decided against it. Abruptly, he switched back to Westron. "I ride north, will you come with me?"

"To where?" Tauriel asked, already dreading the answer. Thranduil was already furious no doubt, and He would only make things worse by acting against the Elvenking's orders, but Legolas didn't seem to care. Part of Tauriel felt proud of her _mellon_ for taking a stand against his father, but another part felt only worry. What end did he hope to achieve through his defiance?

_Do not give him hope where there is none._

Once, Tauriel assumed that the Elvenking spoke only to warn her that no possible future could exist between her and Legolas, but now she wasn't so sure. In all of her six hundred years she'd never seen her friend behave so recklessly, and couldn't help but wonder how much of it was bolstered on her behalf.

Was this what Thranduil had truly feared?

"To Gundabad," said Legolas.

Gundabad. The infamous Orc stronghold. It was said to have been purged of Orcs since the War of The Dwarves and Orcs, but with darkness yet again on the rise, its complete abandonment seemed unlikely. It would be a dangerous place for two Elves to venture to. Doubly dangerous for one to venture alone. Yet how could she go, when Kili needed her?

Tauriel hesitated. _But Legolas needs me as well, _she thought to herself. _I cannot leave him to hunt the darkness alone. Kili will soon be with his Uncle and friends at Erebor, he's in no immediate danger. _But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself of that, her reluctance remained.

_He has much to learn about being an Elf, there's still so much I haven't taught him. Will he be able to manage on his own? Will his Uncle even _accept _him?_

"Tauriel? Are you feeling ill?"

Concern shone bright in the eyes of her friend, and Tauriel felt her stomach clench up with guilt. "I am fine, _mellon." _The response came quick and cool, almost scathing with its guarded edge, and the Silvan elleth immediately wished she could take it back. The corners of Legolas's mouth turned down almost imperceptibly.

"My father was wrong to banish you," he said, misreading her expression. "I meant what I said to that messenger—as long as you cannot return to Mirkwood, neither shall I. He will change his mind soon, I'm sure, once he sees that I intend to uphold my word."

"You shouldn't allow me to come between you and your father. You've done more than enough for me, more than I could ever repay you for. Go home, Legolas."

"It's not home without you, Tauriel."

He extended his hand to her, and she nearly took it, wondering if indeed the air in Mirkwood affected Elves as much as it affected other beings. Her people had always been proud of their natural resilience to the sickening and enchantments of the forest—the Mirkwood Elves never suffered from disorientation and confusion induced by the forest, and didn't require the path to navigate its treacherous and timeless expanse. Mirkwood had near developed a mind of its own, becoming more sly and ruthless with every year the darkness grew.

_But with every passing year, we grow more sly and ruthless too, _thought Tauriel. _More centered on our own wishes, more ignorant to the world around us. Perhaps that's why we Silvan Elves are considered less wise and more dangerous than our kin. _Outwardly, there was very little difference between a Silvan and Sindarin Elf. The only difference Tauriel could discern besides the Sindarin's shock of silver-blond hair was in the subtle shape of their ears; Sindarin ears tended to be less tapering and pointed as those of their Silvan cousins.

She studied Legolas, with his pale complexion, golden hair, and distinctly Sindarin ears, though she had heard the whispered tales of Thranduil's Silvan queen. She then thought of Kili, with his dark eyes and hair that complimented his newly minted features. She had no idea of how Dwarves classified themselves—or if they even had subdivisions within their own race at all—but she had no doubt that Kili's features more closely resembled her own. The prestigious heir of Durin was a mere Silvan Elf.

Vaguely, she wondered if he would inherit their reputation for secrecy and darkness as well. Tauriel hoped not. Kili was as bright as mithril; a quality she hoped he would never lose.

Legolas tensed suddenly, pulling back his hand and drawing his bow with fluid speed as there came the sound of snapped twigs and rustling undergrowth from the forest to the right of them. Someone was running towards them, making no effort to muffle their footsteps as they went. Tauriel stepped back as Legolas pulled back further on his bow- no doubt still wary and ready for combat if necessary due to the previous night—ready to loose an arrow on whatever foe was foolish enough to charge a fully armed Elf.

Kili burst from the foliage, loud and ungainly, looking over his shoulder and oblivious to the astonished Mirkwood prince in front of him. "I won, Fee!" he called, laughing. "Do you think the others have—" Whatever Kili was going to say next died in his throat as he caught sight of Legolas. The dark-haired Elf's eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed in hostility. "You."

_"You seem to recognize me, but I don't recognize you," _said Legolas. He lowered his bow, his features going from grim to confused as he eyed the unfamiliar Elf's tattered garments. _"But if you are a messenger from my father, I have already told him, I will not return until he revokes Tauriel's banishment." _

"Er… what?" Kili looked to Tauriel for guidance. "I didn't get a word of what he just said. Except your name. He did say _Tauriel_, right?"

Legolas had spoken in Sindarin, and while the two true Elves understood every word of what he'd said, Kili did not.

_An Elf who couldn't comprehend Sindarin, the most common of the Elvish languages?_ As much as he found it hard to believe, Legolas sensed that the strange Elf spoke the truth. There was no understanding in the depths of those brown eyes. His confusion only grew as a second figure emerged from the forest.

"Kili, wait up! Where are you—oh." Like his dark-haired Elven companion, he stiffened at the sight of the Mirkwood prince.

The second intruder was a Dwarf; a relatively young one with a braided mustache. _Who on Middle Earth braided their mustache? _Legolas resisted the urge to shake his head. Dwarves were even stranger than he thought. This Dwarf however, as strange as he was, looked familiar.

He was one of the twelve Dwarves from the Company of Thorin Oakenshield; Legolas remembered giving the order to have him and his fellow thieves imprisoned. Despite Thranduil's wrath and a good deal of effort on the part of the Elves of Mirkwood, they still had yet to discover how the Dwarves had managed to escape…

But that was a matter for another time.

The blond Dwarf—_Fee, _his name was? It was what his companion called him at least- seemed to realize that it wouldn't be wise to anger two Elves (he counted both himself and Tauriel), and shouldered his way almost imperceptibly in front of the dark-haired Elf, who looked as if he was considering launching himself at Legolas any moment.

"We're not looking for trouble," he said, his tone carefully honed and diplomatic. He shot his companion a sharp look, and to Legolas's surprise, the Elf obliged, curtly nodding his head and taking a step back. What self-respecting Elf took orders from a _Dwarf? _Legolas found himself liking the stranger less and less—even his name sounded odd. _Kili. _It sounded almost Dwarvish.

"We are outside the borders of Mirkwood, and mean you no harm," Fee continued with the same, irritatingly reasonable tone. "You have no cause to arrest us. Smaug is dead, and my brother and I only wish to join our uncle and friends at Erebor, our rightful home."

"Your _brother?" _

The blond Dwarf quickly tried to backtrack, but it was too late. He'd had a companion with him, Legolas recalled, during their capture—the tall archer that Tauriel was so taken with. At the time, the Mirkwood prince had assumed they were close friends, not brothers, so different they were in appearances. Suddenly, the dark-haired Elf seemed hauntingly familiar.

_Kili…_

Another thought occurred to him; the names of Dwarvish siblings tended to rhyme… Fee. What parent- even a Dwarf one- would name their child Fee? _It had to be a nickname_, Legolas deduced. _Fee… Fee-li… Fili! Fili and Kili! _The names sounded right, and vaguely familiar. Legolas wondered where he had heard them before. Perhaps his father had mentioned them during one of his many tirades about the so-called King Thorin and the perils of dragon fire.

But if Fili and Kili were relatives of Thorin…

"That's right, my brother!" The dark-haired Elf—_Kili— _all but snarled. "A Dwarf of Erebor!"

There was frightened sort of defiance in his eyes, as if there was an invisible weight attached to the importance in claiming relation to a Dwarf. Legolas had seen that same light blazing in those same eyes in a different time and place. The Elf who stood before him hadn't been an Elf then, but a young Dwarf.

One of the nephews of Thorin Oakensheild.

_But how had..?_

"Tauriel."

Her mother had been one of the last great practitioners of _Fëa Evaliir, _had she not? And while becoming an Elf was not among the list of side effects Legolas heard rumored for the ancient art, he could see no other plausible explanation for it. How else could a Dwarf become one of the Eldar?

His worst fear had come true—Tauriel loved the Dwarf. She loved him with the same kind of fierce, protective love that he reserved only for her. He thought back to the night he'd seen the two speaking in the caverns, all smiles and light laughter, talk of promises and starlight. He'd been jealous then; jealous that Tauriel had opened up more to that Dwarf in a single night than she'd done to him over six hundred years.

But love… how could he have missed it?

"_You care for the Dwarf," _said Legolas, slipping back into Sindarin so Kili would be unable to hear. _"I've seen it in your eyes since the day his kind set foot in Mirkwood. I do not understand it, nor do I think I ever will, but I wish you well on your travels. May the Valar protect you and guide you." _

_"You won't tell the Elvenking what I've done?" _The relief was palpable in her eyes.

He shook his head, the words catching in his throat. She loved another, but by the Valar, he would do anything to see her safe. _"No. I won't tell him. I promised you, I will not be returning to Mirkwood when we face such a threat from Gundabad."_

_"Legolas—_mellon_— __you can't ride north alone!" _

_"But who would go north with me?"_ The Mirkwood prince gave a sad, almost sardonic smile_. "Certainly not my father, nor any Elf under his command. You won't, not when you have another mission to see through. I will rejoin you in less than a fortnight. Go to Erebor with your Dwarf, Tauriel. You care more for him and your secrets more than you care for Mirkwood, for your place among our people. More than you care for _me_." _

He quickly turned and left, feelings threatening to boil over. Tauriel had made her choice, now he made his.

Kili glanced from Tauriel to the rapidly retreating from of Legolas with obvious confusion. He turned towards the Silvan elleth. "What was that all about?" he asked.

Tauriel shook her head. "It was nothing. I'm going with you to Erebor."

There was regret in her eyes, but Kili didn't ask why.

* * *

By the time they returned Bofur and Oin were waiting, the ragtag group's meager possessions neatly packed and bundled inside the boat. The boat itself was still in exceptional condition, considering all that it had been through.

"Bard has been generous enough to lend it to us," said Oin, placing a hand on its wooden helm.

Fili frowned. "I'm glad we have a boat and all, but won't he need to use it?"

"He has no further use of it, not where they're going." Before Kili could ask who _they_ were, Oin continued. "The people of Laketown are regrouping in the ruins of Dale. They'll be walking through the mainland, not sailing downriver. It would be a shame to let such a boat go to waste. Besides, once we get settled in to Erebor, Bard will be paid for his expenses ten times over."

Remembering the promise Thorin made to the Master of Laketown two nights previous, Kili nodded. He noticed Tauriel's look of poorly hidden skepticism, and felt a twinge of defensiveness. His uncle was an honorable Dwarf—he would uphold his word to the people of Laketown, Kili was sure of it.

Not _all_ dwarves were as greedy as Thrain, his great grandfather. How could Tauriel harbor any doubts? Their quest was a noble one, his Uncle's intentions pure. And what if their Company was protective of their treasure? It was rightfully theirs.

_Stupid Elves, I didn't see them risking their lives to help us,_ Kili thought in exasperation, feeling guilty as soon as he put his feelings to words. Tauriel was an Elf, and she'd been nothing but kind to young prince's stomach lurched. He too was an Elf as well now, so what did that make him?

The dark-haired Elf hesitated. He didn't _feel _any different- deep down inside he was still Kili; his new body hadn't changed that. But old habits died hard it seemed—aas much as he cared for Tauriel, the lingering ghost of Uncle Thorin's lectures and distaste for the Fair Folk remained.

"Oi, Kili! It seems I've lost my pipe. You wouldn't mind putting those keen eyes of yours to use and helping me look for it, would you?' It was Bofur. Abruptly pulled from his thoughts, Kili turned in the direction of the toy maker.

"I'll look too," volunteered Fili, but Bofur quickly shook his head, cutting him off.

"I'm sure Kili and I can find it," he said cheerfully. "It'll only take a moment, stay with the boat."

Kili tensed. Bofur's tone was too light, too casual. Whatever he wanted, Kili was sure it was more than just a pipe. Fili seemed to notice the disparity between Bofur's words and demeanor as well- anxiety flashed for the briefest moment in his blue eyes- but he said nothing.

Reluctant yet not wanting to offend Bofur, Kili headed over to the toy maker.

"I probably left it over there," said Bofur, nodding in the general direction of where they'd set up camp. "Would you mind coming with me?"

Kili said no, he didn't mind, and fell in step beside him. The sun had already risen high in the sky- it was a surprisingly warm day for mid-November- and Kili knew that if they didn't set out for Erebor soon, they wouldn't make it there before night fell. Bofur couldn't be _that_ addicted to his pipe. Couldn't he have simply waited to replace it once they reached Erebor? The uncomfortable silence between them only grew with every passing second. Kili was only heartbeats away from sharing his observations when suddenly-

"How are you holdin' up, laddie?"

"I'm fine." The answer came swiftly and automatically, with hardly a second thought. Bofur merely sighed.

"That's the same thing you said when you took an Orcish arrow to the knee. You weren't fine then, and it's alright if you're not fine now. There's a difference between showing pain and weakness, you know." He glanced over his shoulder, then shot Kili a conspirational look. They were far enough from the lake shore that no one—not even Tauriel—would be able to hear them. His voice was rough with sympathy. "I wouldn't think of you any less for it."

Kili shrugged, blinking back tears. He slipped a hand into his pocket, fingers closing over his rune stone. The stone was reassuring, familiar to the touch. His thumb ran over the front side of it, exploring all the little ravines and gullies the Khuzdul runes carved into its expanse.

"You're one of Durin's folk, alright. Just like your uncle. Stubborn, and never lets anyone forget it either. Doesn't give them _time _to." Bofur added, almost reminiscently. At Kili's questioning glare, he chuckled. "I don't think I've ever met anyone more stubborn than Thorin. You're probably too young to remember it, but when he and your mum came to the Blue Mountains, he had difficulty adjusting to his new life. He was a _prince_\- he never expected to have to work for a living. The only trade he knew anything in was blacksmithing- and we have plenty of those already."

The dark-haired Elf swallowed, remembering the Blue Mountains. Thorin called it a pitiful excuse for a home, but to Kili and Fili, it was the only place they knew. It _was _home. He'd gone with his uncle to Erebor- because _Erebor _was their real home, right?- craving adventure and an escape from the tedious routines of everyday life, but he found himself missing the Blue Mountains.

_I wonder what Mum's doing right now, _Kili thought to himself. Was she still just as worried about them as she was the day they left? _Mahal, _what was she going to say when she found out her youngest son was an Elf?

_I need to get back to normal, and soon. Or else… _

_No. I can't be stuck like this. I can't. _Kili pushed away the dark train of thought and forced himself to listen to what Bofur was saying.

"…So he decided to try his hand at bein' a lumberjack. Not a bad way to make a livin'- all you really need to know how to do is swing an axe, and there are plenty of trees in the mountains. Some of the dwarrows more experienced in the trade offered to help him start out but no, he was Thorin Oakensheild, he didn't need help from anybody. Not for something as mundane as chopping down a tree, anyway.

"So, first day on the job, he headed out into the woods not too far from the town. Found himself a tree and started chopping. It wasn't until the last blow that he realized he hadn't paid attention to the angle at which he was hackin'- or the way the wind was blowin'. When the tree started to fall over, it fell towards him."

"Was he hurt?" asked Kili in spite of himself. They'd all had to learn survival in the mountains, but this was a tale of Thorin he hadn't heard yet. The dark-haired Elf couldn't picture his uncle being bested by a tree- and he definitely couldn't picture him ever admitting that he was if that were the case.

"Aye, but not badly. Part of the trunk landed on his foot, but it wasn't enough to do any lasting damage. I suspect that what was injured more was his pride- he'd been so angry and full of himself. But this was over some sixty odd years ago, and your uncle's learned a lot since then. He's learned to survive in his new life and someday, so will you."

Kili narrowed his eyes. "No, you're wrong. This isn't permanent." _It can't be. _He didn't like the direction Bofur was taking this. The toy maker made it sound like he was going to be an Elf for, well… forever. "One day," he said hoarsely, "I will be a Dwarf again. Like you."

"Maybe lad, maybe." Bofur replied, but in his eyes he looked doubtful.

"Weren't we looking for your pipe?"

Bofur recognized the intentional change in subject and latched on to it. "Right you are, Kili." He dug through his pockets for a moment, muttering quietly to himself. "Ah! There it is. It was right in my pocket the whole time." He drew out the pipe, to neither he nor Kili's surprise.

He made a move to clasp the dark-haired Elf on the shoulder, realizing rather belatedly that Thorin's younger nephew had become too tall for that. He settled for patting Kili on the arm instead. "Let's get back to the boat. I'm sure the others are waiting."

* * *

By midafternoon, it became clear that they were making good progress downriver- unless any further complications arose, they would reach Erebor before the sun set. The current of the Celduin was no longer as sluggish as it had been on the outskirts of Laketown nor as turbulent as it had been in Mirkwood, and bore their small them swiftly towards their destination.

The sky was blue and the water seemed even bluer, the constant current sweeping the river bottom clear of any potential algae or pond scum. The Lonely Mountain stood tall and proud, no longer quite so in the distance, as if to welcome the weary travelers to its halls.

The relative ease of the journey meant that there was very little work for the occupants of the boat to do besides ensure that the boat remained on course. They had paddles, which every once in a while they'd have to use to steer around a particularly sharp rock, but they encountered little else.

While grateful for the reprieve, Fili soon wished that they _had _something to be doing. Not an hour had gone by after setting out before the group lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

Kili—whom Fili had been certain would've once been the most animated on their return to Erebor—sat almost sullenly beside him, absentmindedly fiddling with his rune stone and staring out over the water. Something must've happened between he and Bofur, Fili deduced, for the toy maker looked equally uneasy, worrying his pipe between his teeth as he stuck the paddle deep and pulled against water, propelling the boat forward.

The blond heir was tempted to sigh. _This is going to be a long trip._


	5. Chapter 5: Madness and Elves

**Author's Note: Hey all! Welcome back. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm sure it's one you've all been waiting for- where Kili finally meets up with Thorin. **

**lindir's gaze: Thanks for letting me know. I'll try to go back and edit that scene within the next couple of days.**

* * *

All too soon, they reached the foot of the mountain.

"I can't do this," murmured Kili, looking up towards the entryway to Erebor, which was little more than a gaping hole torn asunder by Smaug, with apprehension. "I can't see him. Not like this. I shouldn't have come." His voice rose in hysteria, and no one had to ask who _he _was. They knew.

_He _was none other than Thorin Oakenshield.

"Uncle loves you, Kili," said Fili, placing a steadying hand on his brother's arm and gently pushing him forward. Kili had the same skittish look of a horse getting ready to bolt. "No matter what." He kept his tone calm, certain. "You can't let this get the best of you. Listen to me, brother. Listen. There's no turning back. We're going to go in there, march up to Uncle Thorin, and then…then everything's going to be alright."

_Is it? _Kili wanted to ask, but he was too afraid of the answer. All he could think of were the hundreds- _wait, where they hundreds? They might've been thousands- _of times Thorin had declared his hatred for Elves.

"We've gone too far to give up now," agreed Oin. "The only way left is forward."

Kili felt lightheaded, his mouth dry. Back at Laketown, everything had been a haze, a fog of disbelief. Now, in front of Erebor, it all seemed so _real. _His heart pounded out a sickening rhythm in his chest. _I can't do this. I can't. I can't. I can't._

He looked pleadingly at Fili, but Fili's eyes, while reflecting sympathy, remained resolute. _Please don't make me do this, _he thought again. _I can't. _

"You _can _do this, Kee. We're with you." His brother said, as if reading his mind. Kili took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I will stay behind, if it will make things easier," Tauriel offered. "Your uncle has no great love of Elves and my presence is more than likely to only enrage him. I will keep watch over the boat and wait for your return." She hesitated, and Kili could see that her reluctance stemmed from more than wishing to not stir up trouble; she was afraid. Afraid of been locked underground, away from her beloved starlight. Afraid of being in the home of the enemy, surrounded by those she'd once imprisoned. But when she spoke again, her voice rang true. "But if you want me to come with you, you only need to give the word."

She was close to him, oh so close. Her auburn hair reflected the fading light of the autumn evening like a forge, a deep russet in some places and a brilliant copper in others.

"Come with me." Gingerly, he took his hand in hers. It was warm. "Please."

A small smile traced her lips. "Always," she replied.

From behind them came a disapproving snort. Oin, most likely. Neither Elf glanced back to see.

Together, the group headed towards the archway, Kili and Tauriel pulling away from each other as they drew nearer. To their surprise, it was Bilbo who dashed out to meet them.

"It's Thorin," the hobbit began without preamble, panting the words out between breaths. Kili froze. What could be wrong with his uncle? Had Smaug left him gravely injured? _Dead? _He wished Bilbo would just catch his breath already. "…he's been like this for days. He won't come out—not even to eat or drink."

_So he's still alive,_ Kili thought with relief. As long as his uncle wasn't dead, he could handle anything else.

But Bilbo wasn't done with his rant just yet. His eyes widened almost comically as caught sight of Kili and Tauriel. "Are those _Elves? _Oh no, no, no, Thorin will _not _allow Elves under the mountain," The hobbit's mouth twitched once in that nervous, rabbit-like fashion of his before waving his hands in a shooing motion to chase Kili and Tauriel away like flies. "I'm terribly sorry, but we can't have any visitors here right now. Not today. Please, go back to Mirkwood or Rivendell or wherever you came from." He shoved his hands back in his pockets with a resolute nod. "Now good night!"

For a split second all the ragtag group of Dwarves and Elves could do was stand silent, taken aback by Bilbo's abrupt dismissal as he turned and walked back the way he'd came.

"Master Boggins, wait!" called Kili before he could stop himself.

"It's Baggins, Kili, _Baggins_. I've told you a hundred times!" Bilbo corrected, more out of habit than out of actual awareness to what he was saying. He stopped short as his words caught up to him, whirling around to face the startled Elf, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap. The funny thing is, you remind me of somebody I know. Somebody who should be here, actually…"

Kili could see the cogs in Bilbo's mind turning as his gaze raked the group, searching for the Dwarf he used to be. He was relieved when Fili cut in.

"This is important, Bilbo. These two Elves need to speak with Thorin."

Reluctantly, the hobbit nodded. "Alright. But don't blame me if Thorin completely snaps."

* * *

Some might've called it madness. In any other circumstance, Thorin, _would've _called it madness. But madness it was not, he decided, dropping to his knees to once again scoop up another handful of gold. So beautiful, so cold. It was _his. _Rising to his feet, Thorin allowed the precious coins—only a fraction of Erebor's great wealth- to slip through his grasp, tumbling down the side of the golden pile in glorious disarray, mere grains of sand in the hourglass of riches of which the halls of his fathers were.

The newly made and self-declared (for that was what he was, at least until the Arkenstone was found) King Under the Mountain scowled, his contentment fading as his mind drifted towards his all-consuming obsession.

_The Arkenstone. _

Until he could get his hands on the Arkenstone—literally _get his hands on it— _for then and only then would he hold the authority to unite the seven Clans under one banner, he held no true power. He had taken back their homeland, but what good would that be if he hadn't the strength to defend it? The Arkenstone grew in Thorin's mind until it blotted out everything else, and even the magnificent throne room and the resplendent throne of Thror grew small in comparison. He wanted it. He craved it. He _needed _it.

He called together the Dwarves of his Company, and ordered them to search for it. Only Balin—old, faithful Balin, whose back was stiff and eyesight was not as good as it once was—remained, hovering dutifully by his side as Thorin busied himself in perusing through the treasure, finding a ruby the size of his fist within minutes. It wasn't the Arkenstone, but upon closer inspection of its rose-tinted, multifaceted sides, he marveled at how he'd ever done without a gem like it.

His gaze swept across the throne room, hungrily taking in the impressive display of old, stone pillars and pile upon pile of the glimmering riches. It was his—all of it _his, _and he couldn't be more pleased with himself or his fine, brave Company.

A particularly loud shout from Gloin, who for the briefest moment, had thought he'd come across the king's long-lost prize, pulled him from his reverie, hopeful and expectant. But it wasn't the Arkenstone, Gloin regretfully affirmed, and Thorin's shoulders sagged. He looked out again at the wealth he'd amassed, but this time it failed to bring warmth to his heart. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the Arkenstone, and it was out of his reach.

The thin line of his mouth hardened and there was darkness in his eyes.

* * *

_I will not part with a single stone!_

The simple tone at which he'd said it didn't match the angry roar inside his head. How _dare _anyone suggest otherwise? Thorin rounded on Ori, the young Dwarf foolish enough to incense—albeit unknowingly- the king's wrath.

The scribe quailed under his icy gaze, nearly dropping his books and pen in the process. Ori was quiet and timid enough as it was, and no doubt it had taken him a good deal of time and courage to work up the strength to approach Thorin and cautiously broach the subject of his deal with the Men of Laketown. Evidently Ori clearly regretted it; he shook his head, frightened, and stumbled over an apology.

"We did make a deal with the Master of Laketown, it would be wise to honor it. Otherwise we may be looking at a potential war," cautioned Balin, though even _he _sounded reluctant to part with Erebor's treasure, Thorin noted with some satisfaction.

"There will be no dealings with the Men of Laketown," he bit back, "nor any other race who wishes to challenge us. This is ours and ours alone."

Nobody said otherwise, but Thorin did hear Bombur mutter once he thought the king was out of range, "Aye, we'll have plenty of gold, but then what? We'll have war and nothing to eat! We'll be besieged." Stupid, fat Bombur. Always thinking with his stomach.

Thorin ignored the little voice in the back of his mind that warned him Bombur's words may have held truth, but became warier still.

That night he wrote to his cousin, Dain of the Iron Hills, seeking his aid in help against their enemies. _If_ _there was to be a war, _Thorin thought darkly, _then let there be a war._

* * *

On the third day, the trickery of the Elves came. Surrounded by his gold in the center of the throne room he stood, waiting, eager for the arrival of his sister-sons. In his haste and desire for the Arkenstone he'd all but forgotten about them, but on that particular day he'd woken from a restless sleep, Fili and Kili fresh on his mind.

A pang of guilt—as sharp and prickling as any Warg's claw—ran through him at that. How could he have forgotten his beloved nephews? For the first time since their arrival at Erebor, Thorin surveyed the mountains of wealth around him with unease. The gold called to him more strongly than any of his kin, glinting and whispering soft secrets in the dim lighting and for the first time, he was reminded of his grandfather.

_I understand how you felt now, _the king thought to himself, remembering the way Thror would wander the halls of their kingdom, his love reserved only for the precious metals within. But the thought was fleeting and he quickly pushed it away, thinking instead, _all of this, I did for them. _

Fili and Kili would understand.

And so he waited, thoughts on the Arkenstone conflicting with those for his nephews. He'd been forced to leave Kili behind at Laketown, and Fili—damn his attachment to his brother sometimes!—had opted to stay behind with him. When they had left, Kili had barely been able to walk, and it was only out of concern for his youngest nephew that he forced Kili to remain behind.

Dis, Fili, and Kili were the only true family he had left, and Kili… Kili was much like Frerin. Certainly not in looks- his little brother had been stockier, with stormy blue eyes that had bordered on green. Frerin and his nephew were more alike in manner, in spirit. Frerin had been a dreamer as well, and Thorin couldn't count the number of times he'd gotten into trouble for something his little brother that had done when they were younger. He wasn't made for the world, a fact Thorin had understood only all too well as his brother had lain in his arms, dying.

Kili had to survive—he had to. Because if he didn't….

It would be like losing Frerin all over again.

The king's contemplative mood only lasted as long as the quiet around him- as soon as Balin reported to him that the Arkenstone had yet to be found, his volatile temper reared its head and he forced himself to rein in the urge to answer his old confidant with a scathing reply. The tug of the gold was stronger now, almost tangible, and Thorin ran a hand across the precious metal in a slow caress. And waited.

Late in the evening, with the muffled echo of footsteps clambering down the great hall and a call from Bilbo, _they _arrived.

Elves.

The King Under the Mountain almost scoffed at his own foolishness. _Almost. _Of course the Elves were the first to come, seeking gold and favors that he wouldn't grant. He could see past their lies and trickery, for what else could be expected from Elves who groveled at the feet of Thranduil the Oath-breaker? The Elvenking must've sent them, but Thorin would not be fooled. Not by Thranduil.

Nor ever again.

_Elves. _Why had Bilbo let them in?

Thorin braced himself for a confrontation- or quite possibly an attack—as one of the Elves; the taller, dark-haired one that seemed to be male (though it was hard to tell with those pale, smooth skinned faces - blasted Elves!) took a fluid step towards him, arms outstretched in what was either a pleading gesture or an embrace.

"Uncle!"

Thorin knew that voice and despite all the changes, he knew that face. _Kili. _Shock, horror, pity and anger flooded his mind, stunning him speechless until at last, the barrage of emotions subsided, leaving only one behind to take root in his heart—anger.

_How dare Thranduil seek to destroy him by sending one of his own in the guise of Thorin's own kin. _

The Elves were masters of deception, Thorin had seen it for himself in Mirkwood when Thranduil lowered the glamor that hid his hideous scarring for a moment. A well-placed concealment spell was all it took, and an Elf could fashion themselves into the likeness of anyone.

How _dare _that Elf parade around pretending to be Kili.

"Do I know you, _Elf?"_ Thorin demanded, relishing the way the Elf flinched as he spat its race name like a curse. Surprise and hurt flitted across its face, and achingly familiar dark brown eyes glinted with tears, which Thorin pretended not to notice. They were only crocodile tears, meant to trick and ensnare him. _They were not real. It was not Kili— _

He ground his teeth as he continued. "You have no right to be here, defiling the halls of my fathers! You are a curse, you and all your kin. I have no dealings with Elves, or that cowardly Elf you call a king. Get out now, before I make you. I swear by Durin's beard, if I ever see you again, I _will _kill you."

The Elf let out a chocked sob, bending down so that they stood—or in its case, crouched—at the same height. "Uncle, it's me- Kili! Kili, your nephew. Kili! I'm trapped in this body, but I promise, it's still me!"

It even managed to perfectly imitate his nephew's voice. Anguished rage simmered in his chest, and Thorin reached out and slammed it against the ground. The Elf went sprawling, and Thorin grasped it by the collar and wrung his hands around its neck, wrapping them so tightly that the Elf struggled to breathe. The Elf in turn offered no resistance, only stared up at him in terrified disbelief. It had every right to be afraid. It shouldn't have chosen to mock him.

"I don't know what you are," Thorin growled, "or what your purpose in coming here is, but you are not my nephew."

"Uncle, stop! You're hurting him!" He was shoved roughly aside by Fili, the blond heir hastening to help the Elf, the _abomination, _to its feet. The Elf still looked shaken, gasping for air and rubbing its neck, where red marks in the shape of a hand had blossomed across its throat.

"You've got to believe him. He really is Kili!" Fili placed himself protectively in front of the Elf, and it was Thorin's turn to stare in disbelief. The accursed Elf had bewitched Fili as well. But how was that possible? This Elf was weak, pathetic. He didn't even put up a fight when Thorin attacked him! His gaze snapped to the female Elf, who had remained silent and relatively unnoticed up until that point.

"You." snarled Thorin, "I should've known. You're the Elf-witch behind this."

"I may have used magic, but I am no witch," the elleth replied. She stood to her full height, firm and resolute, but Thorin could detect a flicker of fear and uncertainty in her eyes. He recognized her; she was the Captain of the Guard who detained them at Mirkwood. His distaste for the elleth grew.

"I saved his life, but at a price. _Fea Evaliir _is dangerous and unpredictable, my people have not practiced it even at the best of times. He was dying, and I healed him. I had no control over what happened next, and neither did he. But if anyone is to blame, it is I. I poured life from my own soul into his, it is what sustains him. If he were to become a Dwarf again, the poison would once again catch up and kill him."

"Tauriel—" Began the Elf, eyes wide with surprise, but Thorin didn't allow him to finish.

"No Elf is kin of mine." _It's not Kili, _he fervently told himself. _It's not. If it was, I would've known. It's a trick from Thranduil, he wants to steal what is rightfully mine. _"And you will not claim a single gem under this mountain."

He was tempted to banish the Elf right then and there, but one glance at Fili and he knew it would not be wise. His remaining nephew was still under the enchantment of the Elves, and until Thorin knew how to break it, he would be forced to play along. He nodded formally to the Captain of the Guard and her treacherous companion.

"You may stay under the mountain for three days or until I say otherwise. Then you must return to your own, on pain of death." Hopefully, Dain's army would be arriving soon, and he could figure out how to break the hold the blasted Elves had over Fili.

In the meantime though, he would watch and wait, and find out what they were really up to.


	6. Chapter 6: Elven-Sleep and Starlight

**Author's Note: Hey all! Thank you to all who have favorited and followed this story so far. Now that it's late March, my school work has steadily started picking up as this year draws to a close. I will be out in early May, but until that happens, updates for this story will be kind of slow. The next chapter should up by mid to late April and the next and final one three weeks after that before I start writing new material. **

**I have to admit, updating and editing my old stuff hasn't been too bad but I'm nervous about writing new chapters. I've got several new ideas as well as a particular direction I want this fic to take, but I feel like my writng style has definitely changed and I haven't been a part of the Hobbit-verse in three plus years. I've been doing research on Tolkien Gateway and started reading Hobbit fanfics again to get a feel for the world and the characters, which I think will help me craft my own story going forward. If anyone has any tricks they've used to get out of a writer's rut, please let me know! Your advice will be appreciated. On that note, let's move on to the reviews:**

**Midwinter's-Night-Dream-86: Yes, that's good thinking! Whether or not it would actually solve the problem I could see Kili going to Lord Elrond for help and healing! **

* * *

If he had been alone, Kili didn't know what he would've done. He _still _didn't know what to do. Even with Fili, Tauriel, Bofur, and even Oin—although the old healer seemed have gone selectively deaf, choosing to ignore Thorin's angry shouts and the Elf's shuddering cry, but offering a sympathetic glance and a promise to check back in on how his scratches were healing afterwards.

The rest of the Company was a different story, however.

Between the not-so-inconspicuous walkway to the throne room and the cavernous palace's unfortunate efficiency at carrying echoes (and perhaps a word from Nori, who may or may not have been lingering near the mouth of the archway), their arrival in Erebor was no secret.

Kili had been hopeful for acceptance but dreading hatred. The one thing he hadn't expected was _this._

It was as if the whole Company was walking on egg shells around him and Thorin, or scrutinizing him under a magnifying glass; like he was some odd, brightly colored beetle that no one was quite sure what to do with. Whenever his gaze darted to one of theirs—which was quite often—he always found them staring back, with a pitying or uncertain expression on their face. He even thought he almost caught Ori trying to make a quick sketch of him in his notebook once.

Even when he looked away, he could feel the weight of their gazes boring into the back of his skull. _Mahal, _didn't they realize how unnerving that was?

Yet no one wanted to say anything, they were too afraid of angering Thorin.

Kili supposed that they were trying though, at least some of them were. Gloin merely huffed and made a big deal out of sharpening his axe when Kili hovered uncertainly nearby, debating whether or not to sit down next to the redheaded Dwarf. A pointed glance and another meaningful scape of his whetstone against his axe sent the former Dwarf quickly on his way.

But later that night, Bombur slipped him a second helping of stew—of which he vaguely remembered as being one of the better tasting recipes from their journey—so the dark-haired Elf supposed that at least _some _of them were on his side, thankfully.

The hardest part was being around Thorin. Kili longed to call the king _uncle, _but the ice in Thorin's eyes and the memory of sturdy hands with an iron grip around his throat made the familiar and much loved familial title die before the words even left his mouth. It didn't help that Thorin seemed adamant not to call him by name.

"Elf," he said instead, with barely restrained civility. Kili tried not to flinch.

"Thorin," he replied with a respectful nod of his head, testing the name out on his tongue. How wrong it felt without the word _uncle_in front of it!

But for the most part, Thorin preferred to leave his younger nephew alone. And for that, Kili wasn't certain whether to be upset or relieved. He was practically bursting to get away from the Company with their judgmental stares and poorly concealed curiosity. He wanted only to be in the company of Tauriel and his brother, and to maybe get a good night's sleep afterwards.

_I haven't truly slept since that night at Bard's, how is it that I'm still awake? _The former Dwarf thought, incredulous. He felt exhausted, both mentally and physically, but closing his eyes rolling over on his stomach seemed to no longer do the trick. Having unnaturally good hearing certainly didn't help things either.

There were so many things he needed to ask Tauriel.

_Is it true—I'll never be a Dwarf again? _Of all his questions, this was the one most pressing—and the most difficult to ask. Kili wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

But at last the bustle and activity of the day died down, as eventually the Dwarves got ready for sleep. They had made a temporary camp near the mouth of the mountain- blankets were strewn across the floor near the entryway, which was partially obscured by stones. It looked as though Thorin intended to provide a barrier between Erebor and the outside world. From their vantage point, they could easily see anyone coming miles before they reached the gate.

Their sleeping arrangements weren't too close to the entrance though—it was too chilly, and an icy late fall breeze could sweep through the opening with ease. Even without the draft, Erebor grew cold quickly. Kili noticed that the blankets were circled around a fire, its light and warmth waning as it faded into embers.

"Kili?" The former Dwarf's keen ears detected the pad of bare feet before their owner had even spoken. "Bofur told me about what happened. And—and I believe him. I know you're still in there."

"Master Boggins," said Kili, turning around to face their burglar.

"It's Baggins, actually." Bilbo corrected gently. The hobbit offered a small, sad smile. "I should've known it was you at the gate, just because of that. I shouldn't have snapped at you, though. Do you forgive me?"

Kili supposed that in his own fussy, proper way, the hobbit was trying to make amends. He shrugged in response. "Of course."

If only seeking forgiveness from Uncle was this easy. But what did he have to apologize for—being an Elf?

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why had he even come in the first place? He knew that Thorin hated Elves, so why should he have expected to be treated any different? _Because you're his nephew, that's why, _his quiet internal voice chided. _He loves you and Fili- or at least he did. You're not the only one who's changed. _Thorin had changed as well.

Bilbo seemed uncomfortable—and a little unnerved—at how quiet the youngest Durin was being. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well. Right then, I guess I'll be on my way." He started to turn, only to stop in his tracks. "Hypothetically, if Thorin got the Arkenstone, do you think he'd stop this madness?"

Kili paused and considered this. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I've never seen Uncle act this way before. It might make him better, but it might make him worse. Why are you asking?"

"Oh. Ah, no reason," the hobbit answered evasively, and Kili was too tired to pursue it further. "Just wondering. Good night, Kili!"

With Bilbo headed off to bed, the former Dwarf decided to seek out Tauriel. He hadn't seen her since dinner, where she'd quickly drained her bowl and slipped away, leaving him to awkwardly try and bond with the Company. As irritated as he was by her disappearance, he couldn't deny that her presence probably wouldn't help prove that he wasn't really an Elf.

He carefully walked around the resting company towards the mouth of Erebor, pausing as he reached the pile of stones. They only came up to his waist. With only a moment of decision, the dark-haired Elf gathered his strength and leapt, landing lightly on top of them. He staggered for a moment, trying to regain his balance—he'd only been half expecting to clear the jump, but his new Elven muscles had responded with surprising fluidity—and straightened to his full height.

A gentle wind blew through his hair and the moon hung high in the sky as full and round as a silver coin, casting everything below it in a soft, grayish light. The sky was clear, the stars glittering down on him coldly. Kili let out a slow breath. It had been a while since he'd looked at the stars—truly _looked _at them, with more than a passing glance.

As his gaze drifted lower, he caught sight of something (or in his case, _someone)_ that made his heart skip a beat.

Tauriel. She too was looking at the stars.

Jumping down from his perch, he made his way over to her. She was Elven—of course long spans of time spent underground were uncomfortable for her. Kili supposed that he should've tried looking for her outside sooner. He pointedly ignored the fact that above ground, under the open sky, he felt significantly more relaxed as well.

She straightened slightly as he came near, acknowledging his presence, but her gaze remained fixed on the stars. "They're beautiful, aren't they?" she asked.

Kili murmured in agreement. "Mm, you are."

She turned towards him in surprise, and Kili could almost swear that she was blushing, even though her voice remained serious as she replied, "I was talking about the stars."

"What did you think I was talking about?" asked Kili, arching his brow innocently. A smile—albeit a small one, but a smile all the same—twitched at the corners of his mouth, and he fought it down. "You must've misheard me." Mahal, she was fun to tease.

"You mock me," said Tauriel, but her eyes danced with mirth.

"Who, me? I would never dream of it, my lady. Or should I say Captain? I'd have to be pretty foolish to mess with the Captain of the Guard."

Her cheerfulness faded at that, and Kili knew that he'd said the wrong thing. But what? Tauriel lowered her eyes, shamefaced.

"I am no longer Captain of the Guard, the Elvenking has decreed me banished. I cannot return to Mirkwood."

For a fleeting moment, the former Dwarf almost offered the Sylvan elleth a place at Erebor. Then he remembered that even _he _wouldn't be allowed at Erebor in three days' time, if he couldn't convince Thorin of who he was. Dread clawed at his stomach, and Kili suddenly felt sick with fear. "Then where will we go? You can't be with your people, and I can't be with mine. I'm frightened," he admitted, as hard as it was to get the words out in front of Tauriel. "I've never been anywhere without my brother. Not for a very long time, at least."

"You and your brother must be very close." There was a note of wistfulness in her voice that Kili hadn't heard before.

He nodded. "Fili's five years older than I am. The best big brother I could ask for. We used to get into trouble all the time when we were younger. And we still do, really. There was this one time on our quest where we got…sidetracked… and when we turned around, two of the ponies were gone! Trolls had taken them!"

"Trolls?" Tauriel asked, clearly skeptical.

"Aye, trolls. Stupid, ugly, and _huge! "_The dark-haired Elf spread his arms for emphasis. When Tauriel still looked doubtful, he huffed in mock indignation. "I'll have you know that I have witnesses, thirteen of them! Ask any Dwarf—or Master Baggins. Fili and I sent him to take back the ponies."

"You sent _the Hobbit _to face the trolls all on his own?"

"We were right behind him! Well, sort of," Kili amended. "But that's what he was meant for. What's the point of having a burglar if he doesn't do _burglarly_ things?"

They both laughed at that, and Kili wasn't sure if it was over his silly, made-up word or the imagined look on poor Bilbo's face when he found out he had to go up against _Cave Trolls _to steal back the ponies.

Whatever the case, as their laughter subsided, Kili asked, "What about you and your family? Any brothers or sisters? What are your parents like?"

"I had a brother, but he sailed across the sea long ago. I was raised in King Thranduil's court after our parents died."

"I'm sorry," said Kili, mentally kicking himself. There he went ruining the mood—again. But Tauriel merely shook her head.

"Don't be sorry. It wasn't your fault. They died in an orc raid long before you were even born. My father was a member of the King's Guard. I vowed to follow in his footsteps as I got older. His name was Caranor, meaning "red fire" in Sindarin. It matched his appearance as well—I inherited his reddish hair. He was brave and had a warrior's spirit."

"That's another thing you inherited from him then," said Kili, and Tauriel smiled.

"My mother's name was Istril," the elleth continued, looking down, "and she was a healer. I learned some magic from her before she passed. She was one of the last great practitioners of _fëa evaliir, _the same magic I used to save you.

The former Dwarf's breath caught in is throat as he was once again given a reminder of earlier. "Tauriel, is it true that…" He paused, struggling to find the words. "…that I'll never be a Dwarf again?"

Tauriel paused, reluctant. Uncertainty and fear shone in Kili's eyes, but underneath she could still detect a glimmer of hope. _Don't give him hope where there is none_, part of her cautioned, but she quickly pushed it away. It sounded too much like Thranduil. Besides, who was to say that there was no hope? _She _didn't have the power to reverse what she'd done, but perhaps there was some entity out there that could. In this strange situation, honesty would probably be her best option.

"I don't know, but it is unlikely." The Silven elleth admitted, watching as the dark-haired Elf seemed to deflate. He seemed miserable, exhausted. She reached out and took his hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "But much of which was once impossible has become possible. I never imagined that this fate would become yours, so why is it not possible that such a thing can't be reversed? "

Kili nodded and started to say something, but then yawned. Wearily, he rubbed his eyes. "Do Elves ever go to sleep?"

"Yes, but it is not the kind of sleep you would think of it as." Her eyes widened as she realized what Kili was implying. "You haven't slept yet?"

"Nope." Kili huffed. "Not a wink. Not since before all of _this _at least. You know that saying, 'evil doesn't sleep?' I was starting to think it applied to Elves as well. What do you mean, 'not the kind of sleep I would think of it as?" He stared at her suspiciously before breaking out in another yawn. "Tauriel," he said reluctantly, "I'm so tired. How do I do it?"

"Well, for one… Elves sleep with their eyes open."

She almost laughed as Kili jumped, astonishment written all over his face. "I have to _what? _How is that possible? Won't my eyes go dry?"

She didn't manage to suppress a small laugh at that, especially as Kili indignantly spluttered, "This isn't funny! I'm being serious!"

"So am I, _nin meleth._" replied Tauriel, still chuckling. "All Elves sleep with their eyes open, it is the way of the Eldar. I've been alive for hundreds of years, and I've never heard of any Elf getting anything in their eyes while they slept.

"It's normal and safe," she added as Kili continued staring at her, doubtful. "and far more restful than the sleep of either Men or Dwarves. I prefer to lie on my back and watch as dreams and starlight fade into one, but others do it differently. You're already tired, so it should come easily to you. Lie down so that you're comfortable, then breathe deeply and focus your gaze on a single spot. Think of soothing, peaceful thoughts."

"_Soothing?_ Something's going to land in my eye. My own uncle hates me. And" said Kili, growing more panicked as he continued. "In three days' time, I'm going to be exiled from Erebor!"

Tauriel's heart twisted in sympathy for the still newly-turned Elf. She understood how difficult it was to lose a home. "A lot can happen in three days' time, Kili. You can still convince your uncle. Don't give up hope."

A heavy sigh came in response, but when Kili spoke again, he sounded a good deal calmer. "I know. We still have a few more days, and I won't waste a single one of them." A pause. Then, "Tauriel? What does _nin meleth _mean?"

_My love. _Heat rushed to her cheeks, but she was saved from answering by an unexpected cry of, "Kili!"

Both Elves turned to Fili racing towards them.

"There you are, brother," he said as soon as he reached Kili. The moonlight washed his hair in an almost silver sheen and the relief reflected in his eyes was evident. "I've been looking everywhere for you, and was starting to worry you'd ran away."

"I'm not going anywhere," declared Kili, squaring his shoulders defensively. He bent over to hug his brother, and both Fili and Tauriel exchanged a long, meaningful look over his shoulder while he was unaware. If they couldn't convince Thorin—and soon—then Kili might not have any choice.

After Kili and Fili parted from their embrace, Tauriel bid the brothers goodnight and quietly strode away to give the two some time together alone.

"You've been up exceptionally early lately, Kee," said Fili, stifling a yawn. "Are you ready to go back inside and get some rest?"

"Who says I ever went to sleep in the first place?"

"You haven't—how did you—?" For once, Fili—Thorin's golden heir, the diplomatic one—seemed to be at a loss for words. Kili grinned, his brother's astonished response reminding him of his own. "Do Elves not—" Fili at last choked out,"—not _sleep?"_

"They sleep, it's just different." said Kili, not bothering to explain any of the said differences. He still wasn't sure if he understood the mechanics of Elven sleep himself. Waiting until starlight and dreams blend into one? It sounded terribly confusing. He yawned as well. "I'm _so _tired."

"Then let's go inside," Fili offered again.

Kili tensed up. He didn't want to go back inside the mountain, where the walls threatened to close in on him and the moonlight cast dark shadows on the walls. Where his own uncle had attacked him.

"Er, Fili?" The dark-haired Elf cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I think I'd rather stay out here and sleep." At his brother's stunned expression, he quickly explained. "I don't feel comfortable down there. Not after Uncle… I won't stay out here forever. Just for tonight."

"Alright," said Fili, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. As his brother lay down and got himself situated in the grass, he turned to leave. "Good night, Kili."

"Fee?" The blond heir stopped in his tracks.

"Yes, Kee?"

"Will you stay with me, please?" Kili's voice had become small, pleading. It reminded Fili of when they were younger, and Kili would have nightmares about goblins under his bed. He would then clamber into Fili's bed and make Fili promise to fight off all the goblins if they came. It reminded him of simpler times. He glanced back at the Elf—his _brother—_and shivered. The night air was cool and crisp, much different from the warm, inviting fire within Erebor.

"Of course I will," said Fili, and Kili relaxed, a small but grateful smile on his lips. Fili lay down next to his brother, nestling against his side for warmth.

Kili sighed in contentment. He had his brother with him, and Tauriel as well, in a metaphorical sense, that is. Despite his earlier misgivings, he felt sleep begin to overtake him. It felt different than it had before—his eyelids didn't get heavy—but his body loosened and his thoughts slowed. The starlight seemed to swirl above him, and he was only dimly aware of Fili beside him.

Tauriel was right—the stars were beautiful, especially as they seemed to leap and dance across the sky. He wanted to wake Fili and show him as well, but his arm felt too heavy to move… Come to think of it, his entire _body _felt like it was weighted to the ground… But that was okay, for the sky above him shimmered with color…

_I wonder…_Began Kili, but that was as far as he got.

Elven sleep had overtaken him.


	7. Chapter 7: Exploration of Erebor

**Author's Note: Hey all! Welcome back to another chapter of ****_Blessings and Curses! _****We've still got one chapter left of pre-written material on AO3 before I start writing the new material. While I still got a lot of ideas for the present, I've got to admit I'm still stuck on the post-BOTFA time line, the thing that tripped me up the first time I tried writing this story. I reviewed my storyline last night with the two different directions this story could take, and I still can't figure out which one I prefer. Completely different things happen in each timeline. So, I decided to open up the floor to you guys (my lovely, dedicated readers!), to see which you'd prefer. **

**Scenario #1: Thorin dies and Kili is forced to go to Mirkwood, where he must live life as a Mirkwood Elf. **

**Or, **

**Scenario #2: Thorin lives and Kili gets to stay in Erebor. He and Tauriel go to Rivendell to see if the soul magic can be reversed. **

**Either way, I can't wait to get writing. However, I need to choose a direction for this story to go. My first impulse was to send Kili to Mirkwood, to deliberately invert the common theme of Tauriel joining Kili and the Dwarves in their home at Erebor, but never the other way around. This plotline would probably focus on the growing darkness in the forest, and an uneasy relationship between Mirkwood and Erebor. The second would be a lighter, happier arc, where everyone survives and Kili and Tauriel are free to traipse across Middle Earth, encountering all sorts of people. **

**Interested in shaping the course of this story? Either vote on my profile page poll or leave a review. **

**Thanks in advance, **

**-NAJ **

**(Whew. And that's the end of my long author's rant. Enjoy the rest of the story!)**

* * *

Kili… Kili? Kili! Get up! _KILI!"_

Rough hands shook him, and Kili bolted upright, everything sharpening back into focus as he regained consciousness. _Fili!_ Concern shot through him like a lightning bolt. The former Dwarf hastily blinked a few times, clearing the last remnants of dreams and the memory of starlight from his mind.

Fili sat beside him, one hand still clasped on his arm. "Thank Mahal," he sighed in utter relief.

Kili stared at him in as if he were mad, not quite sure what was running through his brother's mind. Fili looked calm now, though there was still an uncertain look in his eyes. He stole a quick around them, but the mountain was quiet. No signs of danger.

His confusion only deepened as Fili drew him into an embrace. "You're alive." His voice was slightly muffled, pressed up against the front of Kili's shirt. "I'd thought something had happened to you."

"Wait—what?" was Kili's very eloquent reply. What could Fili possibly be talking about?

"You looked dead," said Fili, drawing back and looking uncharacteristically sheepish. "Your eyes were open and you weren't moving. You weren't looking at anything either. Your gaze was glassy, and when I called your name you didn't respond."

"I was sleeping," said Kili, slightly awed himself. The sun had already risen—had he really spent the entire night like that?

"Sleeping." Fili murmured, dazed. "Are there any other strange Elvish habits I need to know about before you give me another heart attack?"

"Hmm... No, I think that covers it." said Kili. He had absolutely no idea whether or not there was anything else Fili should know of. If Elves instinctively did anything else bizarre, Kili had a nagging feeling that he would find out about it pretty soon, whether he wanted to or not. Pushing the feeling away, he turned back towards his brother, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

"But if I develop a craving for green foods and start wanting to play the harp, please put me out of my misery," he said.

Fili cast him a sidelong glance, unsure of whether or not he was serious. To this Kili merely rolled his eyes. "I'm joking, Fee. Absolutely joking. I'm not that much of an Elf, I'm more of a Dwelf, really."

"A Dwelf?"

"You know, part Dwarf, part Elf?"

"That I do believe, is the most stupid thing I've ever heard of." said Fili lightly, still recovering from the near-panic he'd felt at mistaking his sleeping brother for dead. "Only you would joke in a situation like this."

Kili shrugged. "I'm an Elf on the outside, but a Dwarf on the inside. That'll never change." _But what about last night? _Part of him whispered darkly. _When you were too afraid to go inside the mountain? Was that not a change? An _Elven _change? _He was already an Elf physically, but what if he became one mentally as well? The idea made his stomach churn.

_They betrayed our people, _the former Dwarf reminded himself. _I'm not really one of them. I'm not._

Why did he joke about his condition?

Because the only other option was to despair.

* * *

"Why did you do that?"

"Why did I do what?" Thorin's gaze evenly met Fili's own, but to Fili, the only thing it seemed was distant. Vacant, even. Uncaring. So remote—so _different—_from the uncle he knew. One of Thorin's hands roved again over gossamer surface of the crystal inlaid bureau beside them, and he felt an urge to slap it away. "You know what I'm talking about, Uncle," he pressed quickly, almost desperately. "Why did you hurt Kili?"

Something in Thorin's expression shifted. "The Elf?" A certain coldness—one that Fili realized with a sinking heart that he reserved only for the Fair Folk—seeped in his eyes, and his uncle turned away in response. "I do not trust Elves, and neither should you. You're my heir, Fili, you must understand. You will be king one day, and that Elf has filled your head with nothing but lies and deceit."

"His name is _Kili—" _

_"He is not Kili!" _Thorin hissed, so suddenly that Fili took a step back. It sounded so resolved, so rehearsed, that the blonde Dwarf wondered if it had become a mantra he told himself. "He's not. If your brother is not here with you, then he's dead." For the first time, Fili could see genuine grief in Thorin's countenance and felt a flare of hope. Perhaps, amid all this madness, Thorin could be reached after all.

His uncle reached out and clasped a hand on his shoulder. "I understand what it's like to lose a brother—"

The weight of his hand on Fili's shoulder was familiar, comforting. But Fili could not allow himself to be comforted. He shook his hand off. "Yes, but Kili's not dead. He's alive! The other Elf—_Tauriel_—she healed him, back in Laketown. He's the Elf, Uncle. It's him!"

"So this is how you handle your grief?" demanded Thorin. "You imagine that he is that _Elf?"_

"I don't imagine, I _know—" _

"Enough!" A sharp intake of breath and rapidly clenched fists were all Fili needed to know that his uncle was barely holding together. "_Do not _dishonor your brother's memory by associating him with that thrice-dammed Elf. He's gone, Fili. You've lost your brother, and I've lost a sister-son." His gaze wandered over the droves of treasure- they stood alone atop a mountain of valuables, where across the room Bombur was doling out portions of stew to the Company—and Fili wondered not for the first time what possibly could be going on in his uncle's mind.

"Do not dishonor your brother's memory," Thorin repeated, softer that time, as if afraid that another besides them might overhear. His fears weren't entirely unfounded; at that moment Kili glanced up from the corner he'd tucked himself away in, pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth before giving a small shrug and resuming his meal. Tauriel sat a few feet beside him.

His uncle was right; Fili had momentarily forgotten about the sharp ears of Elves.

"You do not understand what it is you speak of. You are my heir, but your mother was right. You and your brother were too young to come on this quest. You know nothing of the world. The Elves have you under their control, and you have no idea. They are oath-breakers and traitors, servants of Thranduil here to steal what belongs to our people—"

"Do you even hear yourself?" challenged Fili.

A narrow but unyielding line had been drawn between them, one that had been invisible up to that point, one that Fili hadn't even been aware of nor realized he'd ever crossed. Never before had he spoken to his uncle so blatantly.

Yet Fili knew which side of the line he stood on; he also knew that there was no turning back.

"Think about it," he urged, willing his uncle to see reason. "Why would the Elvenking send two Elves—unarmed, worn ragged—into Erebor when he could send an entire army? What could there possibly be to gain from this? They could be spies, yes, but if they were then it would be foolish for them to enter deep inside the mountain. If Thranduil wished to invade then we would have two easy hostages."

Thorin's eyes darkened as he saw Bofur pick up his bowl and go sit beside the dark-haired Elf, Ori not far behind, sketchbook in hand. Fili wondered if he still held his uncle's attention.

"If he is Kili," said the Dwarf king at last, "then why has he not anything to convince me of it?"

Noting the deliberate transition from referring to Kili as a _he _and not an _it, _Fili felt a good deal more optimistic. However, he chose his words carefully. "You frightened him, uncle. He came seeking help and acceptance, and you nearly choked him to death. Give him a chance, and he'll prove it."

"_He is not Kili," _Thorin scowled as the two Dwarves began making their way towards the others. He sounded angrier than before, but Fili thought he caught a twinge of uncertainty behind it. However, his tone was distinctly confrontational as he turned to Fili asked, "And if I banish this Elf from our homeland, what will you do?"

The blond Dwarf didn't break stride, even as Thorin's steps slowed.

"I told you," he said, brushing past his uncle without even a backward glance, "my place is with my brother."

And with that, he left behind a very stunned and troubled Thorin Oakenshield, ruminating over his older nephew and his attachment to that accursed Elf.

The Elf with the eyes of Kili.

* * *

It seemed, perhaps, that Mahal was in his side after all.

By lunch Kili was certain that he'd convinced several more members of the company of his true identity, and he was all the more grateful for it. Maybe it was from absence of Thorin's watchful presence, or that they were finally beginning to recover from the shock of the previous night, but whatever the case, the interactions between him and the rest of the Company had taken a definite turn for the better. They were still hesitant around him, Kili noticed, but less guarded. Freer.

The dark-haired Elf allowed himself a small smile. If Bifur hadn't directed a comment towards him earlier that morning—the gruff, axe-wielding dwarrow voicing his own suspicion, not truly expecting Kili to understand it—and if he hadn't responded as equally fluently in Khuzdul, their native language feeling familiar and _right_ on his lips, even if they were Elven ones, Kili supposed that they'd still be back on square one of the trust phase.

He was very happy that the Dwarven language was such a secretive one; there was no possible way an outsider could've learned it, especially an Elf.

After that, it seemed that he quickly gained acceptance from the vast majority of the Company, although they approached him with varying degrees of friendliness and trust. Even Gloin—who had scared the dark-haired Elf off earlier, sharpening his axe—gave a curt nod of approval.

While it was a definite improvement from the night before, Kili could sense the unspoken question hanging above them. It was the same question he'd been asking himself: _how much had becoming an Elf changed him? _While they were no longer openly hostile, Kili had a feeling he wouldn't be privy to any secret conversations anytime soon.

After all, he wore the body of the enemy.

But that didn't stop some of the Dwarves. Ori was becoming comfortable around him once again—although the scribe still refused to show him what he kept scribbling down in his journal, and his brothers followed suit. Kili may not have known the brothers of Ri as well as some of the others in the Company, but they showed no outward signs of discomfort at hanging around the former Dwarf.

Maybe the axe stuck in his forehead interfered with his judgment as well, but after their brief confrontation earlier, Bifur seemed to trust him as well, even agreeing to show the two Elves the basic layout of Erebor.

"We're almost there. Only a few more passageways to go until we reach Prince Frerin's old room, if my memory serves me correctly." said Bofur, translating for Tauriel as his exclusively Khuzdul-speaking brother guided them through the halls. Of course, the toymaker added his own comments in as well. "Although it's been more than a few years," he admitted cheerfully, "so we may be wandering around for a while. But there's no shame in that, right lad?"

"No," said Kili, managing to find his voice. "This place is amazing. Just like it is in Uncle's stories just… bigger. More real. It's _incredible." _

Indeed, the dark-haired Elf found Erebor far more bearable during the daytime, away from the vast throne room and Thorin, the glittering piles of gold. _Madness. _That's what Bofur had called it. His uncle had fallen prey to madness, the dragon sickness consuming his mind. It was the only thing that would've driven Thorin to attack him, both the toymaker and Fili assured him, though Kili wasn't so sure. Was it?

Pleased with Kili's reaction, Bofur grinned. "Aye, at this rate you might be able to see most of Erebor within a few days' time." He turned to Tauriel, still grinning. "And I do believe that you're the first Elf to get your own private tour of these halls. What do you think of that, lass?"

Tauriel returned his smile graciously. "I am honored, Master Dwarf."

The four of them walked through the hall in an easy, companionable fashion. He'd originally planned on spending the morning with Fili, but after seeing his brother approach Thorin he'd hastily headed off the other way, deciding that he wanted no part in _that. _The last thing he wanted was a repeat of the previous evening.

_Coward, _part of him chastised. _He's your uncle, you shouldn't be afraid of him! _But then Kili remembered strong hands wrapping around his throat, and his fears felt well-founded. _You only have three days to convince him of who you are, and you're wasting them!_

His dark thoughts were interrupted when Tauriel suddenly came to a stop.

"This is an Elvish blade." The warmth in her tone had faded somewhat, to be replaced by an uncertain, almost hostile tone. Kili felt his stomach to a nervous flip-flop. Tauriel and Bofur _couldn't _fight. As small as it was, he was enjoying the temporary peace between their races, even if it was only between two Dwarves, an Elf, and a Dwelf.

Tauriel bent down, picking up the sheathed blade that lay almost haphazardly across the floor in the doorway of one of the doorways on the side of the hall, dusting off the sheath. "_Anga," _she read, translating the name inscribed in Elvish runes. "Iron."

Kili snorted, somewhat breaking the tension. "That's not very creative. That's like calling your pony _steed _or naming a dog _puppy." _

"There wasn't always war between the Dwarves and Elves." Bofur pushed the door open a little further, stepping inside. The hinges groaned in protest, and as the door opened, the smell of must and something that Kili could only describe as _old _swept out. He wrinkled his nose, stepping gingerly inside. Everything seemed to be covered in a fine layer of dust.

"There was once a time where the two races were allies, though that hasn't been for hundreds of years." Bofur brushed the dust coating off an old shield, Elvish lettering inscribed on it as well. "Though who knows how long it has been since this room was used."

Tauriel seemed to relax, placing _Anga _inside a box of swords that sat adjacent to the door. The sword must've originally been knocked out of there in the first place. "However, not everything Elvish under the mountain is here because my people wanted it to be. Some of it was given unwillingly as tribute." Unease crept into her voice. "The Elvenking will stop at nothing to regain the white gems of starlight."

"That may be," replied Bofur stiffly, and Kili quickly looked away.

There had been a time—and it hadn't been that long ago—that he would've fought viciously for the riches of Erebor, but now… he wasn't so sure. He saw the light of hunger and desire in the eyes of his kin as they surveyed the wealth around them and while he didn't ever want to be as bad as Thorin, he almost _envied _them for it.

He was of Durin's Folk—fine craftsmanship and an appreciation of fine stones ran in his blood—but when he walked past the mountains of gold or examined a crystal in the palm of his hand, he felt nothing. Certainly a sense of awe and admiration at its beauty, but nothing deeper. No desire to hold it close, to keep it for himself. At first he worried that such a thing was an Elf trait- greed was a desire less associated with the Elves, so maybe he _was_ changed—but it didn't seem that all Elves were immune.

The king of Mirkwood didn't seem to be, after all. Kili found it oddly reassuring that the arrogant Elvenking was so fixated on the white gems of starlight. _Maybe I never really cared that much in the first place, _he reflected. However, his eyes brightened as he caught sight of something he _did _desire.

Bows and arrows.

Several of them were lined up against the back wall, all of decidedly Elvish make. He ran a practiced hand across their limbs admiringly. His old bow no longer fit him- in fact, it looked more like a child's bow than a dangerous weapon in his long arms-and as loathe as he was to part with it, he definitely needed a new one as long as he was in this form.

However, part of him was also a little bit excited; he'd asked for a new bow before leaving Ered Luin, but had been unable to get one at the time. Any extra money saved was being used to buy provisions for their quest.

Picking out the most Dwarven looking of the bows—a dark recurve bow of painted wood, sturdy yet still painstakingly Elvish with its elegant curves and design— Kili picked it up and flexed its limb, pleased to find that it was still strong and supple. It needed to be restrung, but that wouldn't be too much of a problem. He had some extra bowstring back with his supplies.

Relaxing his hold, he gestured eagerly for Tauriel to come over. "Didn't you say your King broke your old bow? Come over here and we can get you a new one. These old bows are in great condition!"

Tauriel came beside him, eyes running over the collection as well.

"Will your king allow me to take one?" She asked, clearly doubtful.

Kili shrugged, busy counting how many arrows he had in his quiver. Ten. Not bad, but he would definitely need to find more. "I don't know, but I have a claim to a thirteenth of Erebor's treasure. I'll claim it as part of my share." Before Tauriel could protest, he added, "Think of it as a gift, from me to you."

"Thank you."

Gifts were part of a traditional Dwarven courtship, and the acceptance of such a gift meant that the dwarrowdam in question had accepted its giver as a suitor. The dark-haired Elf could feel the color rising to his cheeks; even if they weren't truly courting because Tauriel didn't understand the significance of such a gesture, his mind lingered on the idea. Yes, a new bow would make an excellent first courtship gift.

Not that that's what it was, of course. Kili cleared his throat, forcing down a small smile.

"You're welcome." He replied in all seriousness. "It's about time I got a longer bow, even though it's not the size of the bow but the size of the _arrow _that counts, if you know what I mean." The innuendo would've worked better had he still been a Dwarf, but Kili was determined to use it anyway. Payback for the quip about nothing being in his trousers at Mirkwood.

"I have no idea what you mean by that," Tauriel said with a straight face, the picture of innocence. "Could you explain it to me?"

Kili felt his face burn even further, and she flashed him a small grin. The elleth _knew _he wasn't going to try and explain that to her! Ans she knew perfectly well what he was talking about too—

Wait a minute. Did that mean she was she _flirting _with him?

His mood once again brightened considerably.

With the exception of Bofur, any other Dwarf in the room probably would've been traumatized by their exchange.

Tauriel picked up a pale longbow, but instead of keeping it for herself like Kili had expected, she handed it to him, taking the recurve bow out of his hands. "Here. This one's better."

_But it's too Elven! _Kili wanted to protest, handling the weapon unhappily. Knowing that such a comment, wouldn't go over well with Tauriel, he kept it to himself. "I don't want this one," he said instead. "The other is more like my old bow, I'll be able to use it better."

"As a Dwarf, perhaps," said Tauriel, "a recurve bow is smaller sized, fitting as much strength as possible into its frame. It works for a Dwarf or a rider on horseback. Elves are tall, and we fight on foot." Kili flinched slightly at being included in that _we._ "A longbow has more power and a longer range, you should use it."

Kili sighed, accepting the weapon as Tauriel picked one similar.

They then continued to explore the room, Kili drifting towards the center of the room when suddenly, a glint of gold caught his eye. Curious, the former Dwarf made his way over to it. Encrusted in dust, it stood taller than him, rectangular and narrow. He brought his hand up and rubbed it, stepping back as the dust fell away.

It was a mirror.

And in the mirror, he saw _himself. _

Kili froze upon seeing his altered reflection for the first time. A startled Elf gazed back at him, foreign yet familiar at the same time. Pointed ears stuck out from behind dark, unruly hair, but worst of all was the _face_. Smooth, flawless skin. No beard. _Mahal, _why did Elves have to look so _feminine? _

Mortified, he remembered his accidental flirtation with that male Elf at Rivendell. Dwarf _girls _were manlier than Elf _men. _

A hand wrapped around his arm, drawing him away from the terrible reflection. Bofur's hand. "Come away from it, lad." The toymaker advised, correctly reading Kili's staggered expression. "Don't look."

Numbly, Kili obeyed, and they left the Elven room behind.

* * *

**Author's Note Part 2: So that's a wrap! Poor Kili, realizing what he actually looks like as an Elf. I wanted to just add a few quick comments at the end of this chapter, since I got a lot of remarks about it on AO3. First of all, I'd like to acknowledge that that according to Tolkein's works, Bofur was too young to remember Erebor. However, I had not realized that while I was writing and by the time I had the chapter posted, I liked it too much to change things. The Hobbit movies themselves were filled with anachronisms themselves, such as Balin being portrayed older in the movies while Thorin was the oldest in the books, so I don't feel too bothered by it. I hope you guys don't mind the slight anachronism as well! **

**Secondly, I had a second reader suggest some fan art for those having trouble picturing Elf!Kili. If you Google Aidan Turner as an Elf, several images pop up. Two of them are from evankart on Tumblr. Interestingly enough, Aidan Turner tried out as an Elf before being cast as Kili. At this point in the story, Kili is still rather unkempt and sports his usual Dwarven hairstyle but the pictures really do give you a pretty good idea of what he'd look like. If you're interested, you should check them out. They're pretty cool!**

**Until next time, **

**NorthAmericanJaguar**


	8. Chapter 8: A Handsome Elf?

**Author's Note: Hey! Thank you to all you guys who gave me input on the last chapter. It was a huge help and now I finally got plans outlined for the rest of this story! I also really like both ideas, and I think I've thought up a great way to combine the two. I hope you guys will like it as I do!**

**In the meantime though, I give you this chapter! It's been my favorite one to write so far. Lots of Kili x Tauriel drama, and Thorin finally talks to Kili!**

* * *

_Is that really what I look like? _Kili plucked another arrow from his quiver and drew back his bow. _What everyone sees when they look at me? _

He steadied himself, placing the foot opposite from his dominant hand forward and adjusting his grip near the end of the arrow, long and still foreign-feeling fingers holding it in place. It was in moments like this he most keenly felt the differences his new body provided.

They—he and Tauriel—were back outside the mountain, breaking in the new bows. The side of the mountain was a treacherous terrain; reluctant to stray far from Erebor, the two Elves decided to make do with the uneven ground around them, and Kill's boots scrabbled for purchase on the dry, barren ground. He hastily—far too hastily—released his arrow, swearing softly under his breath in Khuzdul as it missed his target, a rather scrawny rowan tree that seemed to stand an impossibly far distance away.

Or, it _should've _seemed an impossibly far distance away. He could see every twist and knot in the tree's gnarled branches. Mahal, he possessed the eyesight every mortal archer _dreamed _about.

Was it a blessing or a curse?

The glowy-light thing in his chest leaped to life again, flickering with concern. Kili grimaced, lowering his bow to rub at his collarbone. Stupid Light of the Eldar. He didn't need it reminding him that he was no longer a Dwarf. He already had everything else to help him out with that one.

Unbidden, the sight of himself in the mirror floated to the front of his mind.

He caught Tauriel looking at him, worry written clear across her features, and dropped his hand.

"It's nothing," he said.

"I didn't ask if it was nothing," replied Tauriel, lowering her own bow. They hadn't been practicing for very long, but even in that short amount of time, she'd already struck the tree several times. He hadn't even hit it once. She tilted her head slightly to the side, calculating. "Kili, I didn't even ask if it was something. What's troubling you?"

"It's stupid, really." He was one of Durin's Folk. They weren't supposed to show weakness. They weren't supposed to despair. They especially weren't supposed to turn into Elves.

His breath caught in his throat.

"How about you?" he asked instead.

It was wrong, everything was wrong. Every problem seemed to revolve around him. When facing the spiders in Mirkwood, _Tauriel _had been the one to save him. When he clambered out of the barrel to open the gate, she had come to his rescue once again. Then, as he lay dying, poison in his blood, who had saved his life? Tauriel.

And now she was exiled from the only home she'd ever known, saddled with _him, _a useless Dwelf who couldn't even go to sleep without help. She'd risked so much, and he wasn't even sure if what they had was love. Did she feel the same way he did?

"I'm doing well enough, I suppose." Tauriel looked thoughtful, honest but surprised to be asked such a question. She briefly moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Kili didn't care if what he felt was wrong or not; he wanted to kiss those lips. She gazed off in the direction of Mirkwood. "I miss the forest, but I couldn't stay. My people, we look out for our own and for our realm, but care not for what surrounds it. This fight is our fight, just as much as it is for Men and Dwarves."

"But we've won back the mountain," Kili argued. "The hardest part is over, Smaug is dead. My uncle will find the Arkenstone and unite the Dwarf clans, and those of us that are scatted will return to the mountain. If Azog returns—"

"Azog-?"

"The pale Orc whose army invaded Mirkwood. He's been chasing us since before we reached the borders of Rivendell. He's _obsessed._ They even chased us up trees once! Luckily Gandalf was there and we all threw flaming pinecones at him! Not Gandalf of couse, but the pale Orc. I even managed to hit his warg."

"A powerful Orc army has been chasing you for months, and you all _survived_?"

Kili huffed. "No need so sound surprised about it. We do an excellent job of looking out for ourselves."

"Except when you need to be saved from the spiders," replied Tauriel.

_And everything else, it seems. _A bitter part of himself added. _Did_ she harbor any true feelings towards him? Vaguely, Kili remembered mumbling something about starlight and another world while feverish at Bard's. It felt like a punch in his stomach. He'd written it off as part of a fevered dream, but he'd assumed the same thing about Tauriel at first. And she'd been real.

_Mahal. _Had he actually said all that?

But even worse… Tauriel had said nothing back. Nothing. Not even a tender murmur.

He knew it had been unconventional—a Dwarf and an Elf? _Impossible!—_but he'd hoped. Even with his uncle and his hatred of Elves, even with his mortal life and her immortal one, he'd desperately hoped. He that if it wasn't for his bloodline, he'd hardly been considered a catch.

What dwarrow couldn't grow a proper beard?

As far as Elves went… Well, Kili wasn't so sure. What did an Elf consider attractive? He'd seen himself in a mirror, yes, but he couldn't make much of it. All he knew was that he probabl_y _would've been deemed by his Dwarf self as "pretty" enough to flirt with, and that wasn't _remotely _reassuring. But what did Tauriel think?

_Mahal, _was it possible for one's unattractiveness to transcend a racial transformation?

* * *

"Tauriel?" asked Kili.

Chills raced down Tauriel's spine. Ai Valar, she loved it when he said her name. How could a single voice, three mere syllables, contain so much? She locked eyes with the uncertain dark-haired Elf beside her. "Yes, Kili?"

The question that came was not the one she expected.

"Am I… _AmIattractiveforanElf?" _The words came out in a wild, hurried jumble. She blinked in surprise.

"Are you _what?" _

She watched as Kili took another breath, stumbling over his words. He ducked his head nervously, staring at his feet for a moment before darting his gaze back to her. "Am I attractive for an Elf?" Every word was clearly and carefully articulated.

He sounded like he was about to die from embarrassment.

"Yes," she said, finding that it was no lie. "I think you are."

Kili looked uncertain at that, and Tauriel was unsure of where his hesitancy originated from. Did he not believe her, or was it because Dwarven standards of beauty were so different from Elven ones that he found it difficult to accept? Whatever the case, he looked choked, gripping his bow so forcefully his knuckles turned white.

She hesitated. He had gone through so much already, more than any one being should have to endure, especially not one as young and bright as Kili.

But he was adapting to his life far better than she'd hoped. Every day he looked stronger, more like himself again. She was no longer worried that he would fade from grief, even though she knew he struggled with his new existence. He still wasn't fully alright, deep down inside.

_But he will be, _thought Tauriel, _because that's the kind of person he is. _

If there was anything she knew about Kili, it was that nothing could keep him down for long.

Gently, she reached out one hand and ran it alongside his jawline. It was different than she'd expected; strong and sleek instead of covered in stubble and rough against her hand like she'd used to imagine it.

"But I found you handsome before," she said.

Kili's eyes lit up, and her heart sped up, pounding out a frantic rhythm in her chest. What was it—disbelief, joy? She wasn't sure. They were close, too close. Wonderfully, _terribly, _amazingly close. This was the first time she'd initiated the contact between them, and it felt _right. _Even as the back of her mind screamed _you don't know what you're doing, this is happening too quickly_—

But she didn't draw away. Not this time. Instead, she leaned in even closer to him.

And then she _saw_ him.

Not as simply as an Elf, or a former Dwarf, or even as the nephew of Thorin Oakenshield. No, she saw him as _Kili, _spirited and reckless Kili, the one who showed her that there was life and love outside of Mirkwood, whose eyes blazed with insecurity.

She vowed to make that insecurity disappear.

"…Tauriel?" he said.

"Kili," she said, and pressed her lips against his.

* * *

Tauriel was kissing him.

_Tauriel _was kissing _him. _Kili stiffened in disbelief, the feeling of her lips soft and inviting against his own. Perhaps the Morgul poison was still in his veins and in reality, he still lay unconscious atop Bard's table in Laketown, because this was all too bizarre to be real. It was a chaste kiss, quick and gentle, but it left him reeling.

_She loved him back._

And then it was _he _who was kissing _her. _

Kili flung his bow aside, drawing her into his embrace. Tauriel let out a sharp gasp of surprise as his mouth passionately met hers. He hesitated for a moment, relaxing once again as the Silvan elleth dropped her own bow. He felt her reach back, twining her hands in his hair.

The former Dwarf tenderly cupped the sides of her face with both hands, running a deft finger along the side her left ear. A shudder ran through her body, and Kili wanted to laugh. He was beginning to understand just how sensitive an Elf's ear truly was.

Kili sighed as their kiss grew more heated. He felt as though he could lose himself in the warm, inviting heat of Tauriel's lips. However, before he could do so, he heard the sharp crack of a twig and the sound of a startled breath drawn in behind them.

"Ahem," a very stern voice said, wavering on losing composure. "And what are you doing?"

_Uncle Thorin! _The youngest Durin felt his stomach drop. Hastily, he untangled himself from Tauriel. His uncle stood with his arms crossed across his chest, storm clouds gathering in his eyes as a scowl settled on the lower half of his face. Although he towered over his uncle, Kili once again felt very small. A dwarfling caught raiding the cookie jar.

But this time, the situation was so much worse.

"We were, erm…. Practicing archery?"

It came out more like a question than an actual answer.

"Were you now?" said Thorin, scathing. Kili cringed, knowing that his uncle's tone was more of a challenge than an open-ended question.

"We were," said Tauriel, raising her chin defensively, "We were practicing on that rowan tree over there." She gestured in the direction they'd been shooting, though Kili doubted he could see their target as clearly.

"Tauriel," Kili breathed softly, quietly enough that only their sharp ears would hear. "He's my uncle, I need to be able to talk to him eventually. Stand down."

"I will _not _stand down." She bristled, whirling to face him. "He has no right to speak to you that way—"

"I have every right," said Thorin, though to Kili he sounded slightly regretful, less harsh. "You are the one who has no right to speak to me, or my kin. I wish to speak to my nephew alone."

_He called me nephew. _A fierce joy rekindled in his heart, and he nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak. _Does he believe me now? _

_He called me nephew. _

"Very well," said Tauriel. She stole one last look at Kili and, upon seeing the acceptance in his eyes, strode away.

They waited until even the bright flame of Tauriel's hair disappeared from sight, the former Dwarf uneasy and nervous as his uncle stood beside him, as firm and unyielding as the very walls of the mountain. It was difficult to read the expression on Thorin's face, and Kili considered being the one to break the uncomfortable silence.

But it was Thorin who spoke first. "I want honesty, Elf." he said, the demand lacking any of its previous venom. It was haggard, weary. The fight was drained from it, it only waited on and trusted the reply that came next. "Are you Kili? Are you really my nephew?"

Kili swallowed.

"**Yes, Uncle." **he said, lapsing into Khuzdul. It worked with the Company, so he fervently prayed it would work with his uncle. He stared fixedly at the ground, struggling to keep his breathing steady. Maybe if he stared at it long enough, the earth would rise up and swallow him. "**It really is me… Kili." **

Tentatively, he looked up to see Thorin's response, only to wish that he hadn't.

Something in his uncle's eyes had shattered.

"Uncle?" Kili's mouth went dry, heart hammering in his chest. "A-are you alright?"

_"Kili," _murmured Thorin, voice scarcely above a whisper. He looked up at his nephew, stricken, and the raw emotion in his eyes was enough to take Kili's breath away. Grief. Uncertainty. Loss. They were all emotions the dark-haired Elf had perceived before, but never to such an extent. And never from his uncle, whom Kili knew had suffered much, but masked his feelings behind the Durin strength he wore as naturally as a coat of armor.

"I could have killed you, and I was _going _to banish you from our lands." His voice, though soft, was rough and made Kili's heart twist in pain. Too well he remembered Thorin's hands around his throat, his head connecting with the stone floor; it was the first time his uncle had ever struck him.

Thorin seemed to realize this as well, and he bowed his head. "**Gajut men,**" he said. _Forgive me. _"I have failed you."

"No, you haven't!" Kili protested, fervently shaking his head. "You are the best uncle Fili and I could ask for. You haven't failed anyone." He blinked back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, the fear of his uncle's wrath evaporating like dew.

"**Menu gajatu,**" he told Thorin. _You are forgiven. _But it didn't look like Thorin believed him, so he repeated it again, more firmly this time. "**Menu gajatu!**"

A bit of resolve made its way back into the Dwarf king's eyes- eyes that glistened almost as much as Kili's own, and he straightened. "I don't know if I can forgive myself," he said, "but I hardly expected to find my sister-son under a curse." Kili winced, and Thorin's countenance softened. "I didn't mean it like that, but you're cursed. It's the doing of that Elf-witch."

Kili didn't like Thorin's tone when he spoke of Tauriel.

"She saved my life—" He began, but Thorin cut him off.

"We _will_ find a cure." His uncle had begun pacing, continuing as if he hadn't heard his nephew's protest. "No matter what it takes, even if it means scouring the darkest pits of Mordor. We will have you back to normal. You are _not _an Elf, so I do not want you consorting with Thranduil's she-elf anymore. You are a son of Durin, you must fight it-"

"I love Tauriel. I loved her before all of—all of this!" The former Dwarf's voice broke, and he gestured to himself. "I had feelings for her the moment she saved me from the spiders."

Thorin turned and stopped. "Don't be ridiculous, Kili, she's an Elf—"

"And so am I! Do you think of me any less for it? Do you see me as a faithless woodland sprite? I saw myself in a mirror, Uncle." He may call himself a Dwelf, but others looked at him and saw only an Elf. It was a terrible, uncomfortable revelation. Kili suppressed a shudder, and held his chin high. "I know what I am. Is that all I am to you?"

Thorin shook his head. "This is not permanent. We will wait for Gandalf. The wizard will know what to do; he'll reverse it."

_This conversation is feeling very one-sided, _Kili thought bitterly. Why couldn't his uncle _understand? _Anger loosened his tongue and made him reckless, and he voiced the thought that even he feared to consider.

"But what if it can't be reversed?" It was frightening that a small part of him began to accept the idea as a fact, and his throat tightened.

"You are _not _courting an Elf, and that's final. If you wish to marry, you will wait until you're older, choose a dwarrowdam from a respectable family-"

"And what dwarrowdam would want me like this?"

Kili was being difficult, and he knew it. Thorin looked downright murderous.

"You'd be willing to shame your bloodline by lying with one of _them? _Your children would be _Elves!" _Thorin said _Elves _the way most people would say _Orcs. "_Treasonous woodland sprites, like their mother! They wouldn't even be half-Dwarf. We have enough enemies already without you wanting to spawn more. Our ancestors must be rolling in their graves!"

The thought of siring an Elfling left him with mixed emotions, both pride and shame warring in his heart. Becoming a father, especially to a little Elf, hadn't really crossed his mind.

_But what else would the child be? _

The question seemed painstakingly obvious as soon as it occurred to Kili. He didn't feel ready for fatherhood—and doubted that he would anytime soon—but the more he thought about it, the less bad it seemed. If—someday far in the future—the time came, he would treasure his child, no matter its race. An Elfling wouldn't be so terrible; especially if its mother was Tauriel. Kili's hands curled into fists.

"Don't insult Tauriel or I like that _ever again!" _he snarled, explosive. "She saved me, while you left me behind to die in Laketown!"

"Durin's axe, Kili!" Frustration cast dark shadows under Thorin's eyes, giving them an almost haunted, sunken apprearance. "Do you _want _to be an Elf?!"

Silence. All Kili could hear was the sound of his own breaths, ragged and angry, while his heart pounded furiously in his chest. The light within his chest flickered as well, as if it sensed his anger and sought to soothe him. But Kili wouldn't be soothed. He was angry, and finally realized why. It wasn't at himself for being careless or Tauriel transforming him like he'd previously thought, but at his uncle for _abandoning _him.

"You _left _me, uncle, standing on the dock. _Why?" _Kili demanded, hating how hurt he sounded. He was trying to be angry, fierce. Not despondent.

"I did what I had to do. You were too weak to fight a dragon. Oin, Bofur, and your brother stayed behind to help you."

"Bofur had too much wine the night before, he didn't mean to get left behind." The dark-haired Elf deflated. His initial burst of anger had passed, taking all of its wild energy with it. Now he only felt weary, drained. Resentful. "Oin _volunteered. _When Fili climbed out of the boat, you tried to stop him. I was going to be alone."

"I didn't realize the poison from that arrow was so strong it would kill you." Thorin's eyes flashed in reply, his countenance challenging. "If you hadn't insisted you were fine and kept on lying to the rest of the Company, I would've insisted you see a healer!"

"But you still would've gone to Erebor without me."

"Aye." There was reluctance in his uncle's voice. "I would have. We had come too far and travelled too long to give up. I would've left behind any member of the Company had they been in your position because the good of the many outweighs the good of one. Even you, my sister-son. If you hadn't been so stubborn—"

"Stubborn?" Kili spat. "I wonder where I got that trait from."

He closed his eyes, sinking to his knees. A particularly sharp pebble stuck into his kneecap, but he didn't care. Thorin's shouting made his mind ring. His sensitive Elf ears weren't quite yet adjusted to the noise. Perhaps they never would be.

"I don't _want _to be an Elf," he admitted quietly. "I never wanted this. It was an accident, Tauriel meant only to heal me, but she ended up channeling her life force into mine and I transformed. Do you know what that's like? Having something creep up inside you, crushing you and making you into something you're not?"

A tear rolled down his cheek and this time, Kili did nothing to stop it.

"It _hurts. _It hurts so bad, and there's nothing you can do to change it. I should be dead, but Tauriel saved my life. She put the Light of the Eldar inside of me, it's the only reason I'm still alive." He opened his eyes, blinking through a haze of tears, and took Thorin's hand, pressing it to his collarbone. He felt his uncle's fingers curve against the warmth, his face slack with surprise.

"It's… like a hearth," the king said hesitantly, unsure of how to complement this strange Elvish feature. Thorin was unsure of how to complement Elves in general, Kili reflected. His expression was guarded. "What is it?"

"A life force. It makes me immortal." _I will not cry, I will not cry_— He took a deep, shuddering breath instead, trying to stop his face from scrunching up. He closed his eyes again. Some things were easier to bear in the dark. "I'm going to outlive Fee… Everyone I know will be gone, and I'll still be... here."

A racking sob shook his body, but no sooner than it had, strong arms enveloped him. A beard tickled the bare skin of his neck and gentle fingers rubbed in comforting circles on his back.

Kili could take it no more. He buried his head into the broad shoulder, the pain, confusion, and fear of the past several days washing over him. He wept as Thorin held him close, letting out all the tears he'd held back, and it wasn't until he felt something warm and wet slide past his ear that he realized his uncle was crying as well.

"You are brave, my sister-son," Thorin murmured, his breath hot and thick against Kili's skin. "I'm so proud of you."

"I don't feel very brave," Kili mumbled in reply. "I feel scared, mostly. Where will I go if I'm not welcome at Erebor?"

"You will always be welcome at Erebor, any Dwarf who says otherwise will have to challenge me. But I refuse to accept this as permanent." The comforting hands left his back and the two released their embrace. A wild, defiant light had entered Thorin's eyes and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Kili's own. "And I _refuse_ lose you to the Elves."

"You'll never lose me," Kili promised as he soaked in the Dwarf king's words, which were as soothing as any healing balm. Despite their previous confrontation, he felt good again. Whole. Peaceful.

Kili collected his bow, and side-by-side the Dwarf and the Elf walked back into Erebor. Never in all his years did Thorin imagine that he'd willingly _hug _an Elf, but what else was there to do?

For a fleeting moment, his mind was free.

There was no quest, no thirst for glory. There was only his Company and his sister-sons, and their new place at Erebor. The Arkenstone be damned; it held no power over him. But as they headed back inside, away from the fresh, clean air and back to the droves of gold and the half-lit hallways were the dragon sickness spawned, it crept back into his mind, as creeping as a shadow.

And Thorin Oakenshield was about to learn for the second time that he'd never been so wrong in all his life.

* * *

**Author's Notes: As always, reviews are appreciated. Chapter 9 should be up in a few weeks!**


	9. Chapter 9: On Strange Trails

**Author's Note: After years of waiting, here it finally is—Chapter 9! I agonized for months over what to write, but I finally think I have overcame (for now) my writer's block. School has just started back up for me, and with luck I will be able to find a regular updating schedule. While I don't think I'll be able churn chapters out on a set timetable, my goal is to update at least once a month. I think that's very sustainable.:) **

**One of the biggest problems I had when writing this chapter was both re-familiarizing myself with the characters and trying to tap back into my writer's "voice." I feel like over the past four years it's changed, and that's been a little jarring to me as a writer. Hopefully it doesn't feel too odd or disjointed to you guys as well. **

**Please read and review to let me know what you think. And finally, a big-shout out to all of the reviewers who have helped me along the way. (lindirs-gaze, xxx, I'm looking at you!) Without you, this chapter wouldn't've been possible. **

**Without further ado, I give you Blessings and Curses! **

**-NorthAmericanJaguar**

* * *

_Pain. Darkness. Fear._

_Kíli ran as fast as he could through the dark, twisting passageways of the tunnel. His heart pounded and his breathing was ragged, every gasp curling into mist in the cold air. His lungs ached and his tongue was dry and tasted like ash._

_Where was he, and how did he get here? _

_Kíli didn't know, but he had never seen this maze-like tunnel before. It reminded him a little bit of the old mining network back in Ered Luin, but this was nothing like the Blue Mountains. Everything around him was gray and twisted, the walls of the tunnel seeming to shimmer and grow clear only as he approached them, and he could hardly hear anything over the sound of wind howling all around him. Kíli moved as if in a daze. Even his own footsteps sounded muffled. _

_An Orcish horn sounded faintly in the distance. _

_He stopped suddenly as a gaping hole opened up right in front of him, nearly wide and tall enough he could stand up straight and peer outside into the crystallized air. The sky as well was gray, and Kíli gripped even tighter to his sword. _

_Where was he, and why couldn't he remember? _

_The dark-haired Elf shivered, and not just from the cold bite of the slow-falling snow. He was looking for something, for someone. It was important, but he just couldn't remember…_

_Kíli's head whipped up at the sound of an unexpected voice. "Ekenskeld!" _

Oakenshield._ Kíli didn't know Black Speech, but he knew that word. Even worse than that, he knew that voice. It was Azog, his voice cutting ruthlessly through the cold, muffled air. As bits rubble flew past the entryway, and Kíli slipped further back into the shadows. _

_Azog. What was the Pale Orc doing here? _

_He remained silent as the Pale Orc began to speak, his voice reverberating through the desolate chambers. "Za ashmat ashurz. Snu golog bolvagz." _

_Kíli stepped closer to the entryway, daring to look at the high tower above. He gasped at what he saw. Several yards above was the Pale Orc, and he had Fili with him. He was dangling the blond Dwarf over the ledge by a fistful of his own hair. Kíli felt his blood turn to ice. The most of his brother Kíli could see was the boot bottoms of his precariously swinging feet. _

_Azog's voice curled in a jubilant sneer. "Snu lat, Ekenskeld. Lat mat mabram. Katu matuk grishdurb onrein!"_

_"Run!" Fili cried, but it was already too late. Before Kíli could piece together what was happening, he saw the bright flash of a blade. _

_Fili let out a chocked cry as it embedded in his middle. _

_"No!" Kíli tried to shout, but his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Instead he stood silent, his body paralyzed by rage and fear. _

_Azog let his brother's body drop like a stone. _

Crash! _Fili landed on the ground with the resounding crack of earth against bone. _

_Kíli felt his whole world come apart as Fili stared up at him with sightless blue eyes. He tore his gaze from the blond Dwarf to glare up at Azog, hating him more than he'd ever hated anyone in his whole life. His voice returned to him with a wordless cry. He was going to find Azog, and kill him. No matter what. Mahal's Hammer, he was going to make that monster suffer; tear him apart just as he'd torn apart Fili—_

* * *

Kíli bolted upright, his heart still racing. In the darkness and gloom, it took him a moment to realize where he was.

Kíli blinked once, then twice, as the frightening remnants of his dream began to fade. Fili was alive, and he was safe. The Pale Orc was nowhere to be found. He was in the inside Erebor, surrounded by his kin and their mountain home. The dusty smell of the halls greeted him. It was his first night back under the mountain, and Kíli knew he should be relieved. He wasn't going to be banished now, because Thorin believed him. His uncle had welcomed him and Tauriel back inside, and they'd all taken portions of Bombur's thin, watery stew together, just like they had before.

It wasn't until now that Kíli felt something was wrong.

Something dark pulsed in time with his blood, something dangerous.

He found himself wanting to escape; to get away from the dead, heavy underground air and_-no. _Kíli caught himself midway through the train of thought. He did _not _want to leave Erebor. He _certainly_ did not long for the open sky and the company of green, growing things, even if that would mean seeing Tauriel, who had still opted to spend her nights outside before winter made it too cold.

_What are you, a son of Durin or a tree-shagging pixie?_ He asked himself bitingly, feeling more than a little hypocritical as he dredged up the most condescending terms he could think of to describe Elf—akind. _I know what I am, _he had told Thorin earlier; boldly, desperately. _Is that all that I am to you? _His mind instantly flickered to Tauriel. A slight to her race felt like a slight to her as well (but not against him—he wasn't an Elf, not completely at least); but he shook the guilt off. He needed to snap himself out of this new sickness.

_You must fight it._ Thorin had been adamant about that. Kíli's new nature called to him, and he sought to master it.

However, as much as he tried to deny it, Kíli knew he couldn't ignore his instincts forever.

It was only a matter of time before that nagging call became irresistible, drawing him away from the deep halls of Erebor and the company of his own kin. Kíli felt a twinge of guilt:_ h_is place was with the Company, and their place was in the mountain.

They belonged there. _He _belonged there.

_I must fight it,_ he thought with new resolve. _I am _not _leaving the mountain. _He'd already lost his body to the Elf he'd become; but what if he lost his mind to it as well? Would he forget what it meant to be a Dwarf, or even worse... Would he forget what it was that made him Kíli, and not some random Elf?

After all he was going through, would he still be himself?

Kíli was no longer in the mood to sleep. Throwing off the covers, he rose to his feet and grabbed his heavy leather boots from Bard's.

He shoved them on, grabbed his canteen, splashing a little water into the palms of his hands and rubbing it on his face. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore how strange the bare skin felt. His cheeks and jaw felt soft and smooth, almost child-like. How he missed his beard! It hadn't been much, but at least he'd had_ some_ stubble. A few decades more, and it might've even been a proper beard.

Nothing like Gloin's, but he would've been proud of it all the same. He could've decorated it with beads, or worn it short yet respectable like Uncle Thorin. But now Kíli realized he might never have that chance. Would Gandalf be able to restore him to normal when he returned?

It seemed unlikely.

Kíli took a large gulp from the canteen before placing it back with the rest of his belongings. He wiped his mouth on his back of his sleeve, looking wistfully around at his sleeping companions.

Being the only one up was _boring._

He _may _have accidently-on-purpose gave a little too drawn out sigh and kicked a loose pebble, sending it skittering nosily across the stone floor, but to no avail. Not a single Dwarf woke. Not one even _stirred._

Kíli waited for a few more minutes, pacing back and forth as he thought of ways to keep himself occupied. He could easily wander off and explore more of Erebor- although he had done some of that yesterday, there were still countless more rooms to explore and even what he had seen, he certainly wouldn't mind seeing again- but the thought of heading deeper underground, especially alone, made his stomach churn.

Time to try another tactic.

"Fili?" Kíli whispered, going over prodding Fili's sleeping form. "Fee?"

Fili groaned, burying his head deeper into the pillow. "G'way, Kee. Too early."

"Okay." Kíli said, his tone disheartened. Fili rolled over and fell right back to sleep.

Kíli retreated from his brother's sleeping form, feeling even more discouraged. What else was there to do in the meantime? It couldn't be _that _early in the morning. However, the Company slept on, as noisy as a hive of bees.

He really, _really_ hated his newfound hearing, and would've tugged on his ridiculous ears if he didn't already know that if he did, he'd regret it.

How come no one else was up? At that moment, his stomach rumbled. His eyes brightened. He could have breakfast!

Mind made up, he stealthily crept over to where Bombur kept the cooking supplies. He certainly wasn't going to try and cook anything, but surely there was something there worth eating that didn't require heating or brewing. It was worth a try, wasn't it?

He sifted through the supplies, getting more careless and impatient as he found nothing. They were running low in food, it wouldn't be long before they'd be forced to restock. _But where will get more? _Kíli wondered. _If we make enemies of Laketown, where else will we restock? _Tauriel's ominous prediction of war came back to him, but he pushed it away. His uncle would never let it come to that, would he?

So absorbed in his thoughts, Kíli didn't notice as he absentmindedly tossed one cooking pot against another until it was too late. With a resounding _clang _they clattered against each other, and he was too slow to stop them. The noise was abrupt and jarring—Kíli waited with baited breath as the long seconds stretched out- but he was greeted only by the thunderous snores in an otherwise silent room.

Pressing his luck a little further, he resumed his search. Spoons? No. Knives? No. The former Dwarf set the items aside in an ever-growing stack. Sour smelling only-Mahal-knew-how-old pickled root vegetables? No. Definitely not.

Maybe he should—

"What are you doing, lad?"

Kíli nearly jumped at the unexpected interruption, nearly dropping the container of nasty vegetables. Whirling around, he realized that it was Balin who addressed him, the old Dwarf barely visible in the dark. He looked at Kíli, puzzled, but not unkindly, his narrow-eyed look of confusion only deepening the wrinkles set around his eyes.

"I thought I'd get something to eat," said the former Dwarf, setting down the jar. He lowered his head, careful to keep his voice low. "I know our food supplies are getting low, I wasn't going to have breakfast later. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't disturb me, Kíli," Balin sighed, looking aged even beyond his years. Older than the stones themselves. "I was already up, lying awake and thinking."

"About what?" asked Kíli.

"A great many things, some more probable and worrisome than others. Nothing for you to be concerned about, though. Much of what I have on my mind concerns things that happened long ago, some of which may have no meaning in the present." Balin replied. Seeing Kíli's perturbed expression, the old advisor only shook his head ruefully. "Don't mind me, lad. You're young, and have other things to worry about than what's on the mind of an old Dwarf."

Kíli shrugged, careful to keep his smile carefree. "I'm not tired. We've got time."

Balin looked at him closely, his expression growing thoughtful. "So I see. The rumors about Elven-sleep are true." Kíli looked at him, slightly lost and slightly embarrassed. "It is not like the sleep of Men and Dwarves. It is shorter and more restful. Some even say that older, wiser Elves don't need to sleep at all, and can learn to dream while they're awake, though their dreams may set them on strange trails."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to do that." Kíli admitted, even though he remembered what Tauriel had told him about Elven-sleep being deeper than the sleep of Dwarves and Men.

He looked down at the ground. Balin's words only served to remind him strongly of his Elvish potential. _And don't want that._ He didn't want to spend the next thousand years growing older and wiser as an Elf; even if Tauriel remained by his side the prospect seemed daunting. Kíli felt his mouth grow dry. _I can't risk losing who I am._

He considered telling Balin about the strange dream he had, even if only to change the subject. However, older Dwarf broke in before he had a chance.

"Perhaps not, but many would if given the chance. I'm at an age now where I wish there was more I could do with these remaining hours than rest, even though my body needs it. This journey has been hard on all of us, even Thorin." He tugged thoughtfully at his beard. "When we first got here, he wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, not until we found the Arkenstone. By the time you arrived he was at his worst."

Kíli tried not to remember the rage in his uncle's eyes, or the vice-like grip tightening around his throat.

"He's asleep now," he pointed out instead.

"Aye, that he is," said Balin, "and it's the first time he's done so since we retook the mountain. Despite what you might think, you being back is good for him."

Despite the initial burst of pride, Kíli felt himself deflate as he remembered what had transpired. "But even now he won't accept me and Tauriel."

Balin merely shook his head. "He accepts _you, _and that's a start. The Elf-maid will come later. He might not like it, but Thorin will come around. If there's anything I know about Thorin, it's that he's proud as an ox but won't deny his own kin. You are just as stubborn. No matter what happens you are still a Longbeard and his sister-son."

Kíli smiled, warmed by the advisor's reassurance.

He started to thank Balin, but the advisor firmly waved it away. "Quite frankly, it's taken away a great deal of my cares and worries. Don't worry about me lad, I feel lighter already." He added, after a moment's pause. "All's well that ends well; the hard part is just figuring the stuff in the middle. Now, it's time to leave an old Dwarf to get some rest." His weary look briefly shifted into something more conspiratorial. "But if you're looking for something to do, there's no shame in going out to see the stars."

* * *

**So there we have it! The end of Chapter 9. Was it too fast? Too slow? Please let me know any questions or comments you may have. The next chapter should be up sometime around Halloween. **

**Translations: All Azog's quotes are taken directly from the BotFA movie. I translated the captions back into Black Speech the best I could, with only a few minor adjustments. What Azog says is this: "This one dies first. Then the accursed Elf. Then you, Oakenshield. You die last. Here ends your dirty bloodline!"**


	10. Chapter 10: Price to Be Paid

**Author's**** Note: Happy November, all! I'm sorry this section is a little late. I got snowed under by tons of Halloween festivities and midterms. However, although the midterms were really stressful, Halloween was tons of fun. I got to be a zombie for our school's annual zombie apocalypse and spent the night scaring and getting shot at by my classmates with nerf guns. I felt like a minor character in Lindir's-Gaze's _A New World. _;) It was so much fun! **

**A quick question though for all you readers and writers out there—what do you guys think about shifting POV? I realized that's something I've done in previous chapters quite a lot, and I find myself doing it again as I write. There's several pretty severe examples of later on in this chapter. So tell me, is it too jarring, or do you think it counts as first-person omniscient?**

**Thanks for your help! Enjoy this nice long chapter!**

**-NorthAmericanJaguar**

* * *

"Durin's beard, Kíli. You looked like a corpse," was the first thing out of Thorin's mouth that morning. It had been about a week since Kíli rejoined the Company in Erebor, and a few days since Thorin accepted him. Kíli was steadily adjusting to his new sleep schedule, resting for only four or five hours at a time before slipping outside to see Tauriel. The fact Thorin had caught him sleeping took him by surprise.

"That's what Fili said as well," replied Kíli, shooting his brother a teasing glance. Despite being uncomfortable with the whole situation, he was very glad he'd warned the others about Elven-sleep in advance. "Only he didn't say it- he just reacted! I had woken me up from the first good night's sleep I'd had in days!"

Fíli's only response was a sharp elbow to his stomach, smiling slightly as his decidedly too-cheery younger brother gave a started oaf in reply.

"Fíli," Kíli groaned indignantly. "I just ate!"

"I was aiming for your ribs, brother. It's not my fault you're too tall for me to reach."

"Too lazy for you to reach, you mean," Kíli retorted. Thorin allowed himself a small smile at the playful banter between his two nephews." You could definitely hit me in the ribs if you tried." The dark-haired Elf took on a thoughtful expression. "Do you think that if I ever took Bofur's hat and held it above his head, he would ever get it back?"

"I wouldn't suggest it." Fíli's braids twitched slightly as he smiled. "He could just get Bifur to help him take it back."

"Are you implying that couldn't hold my own against Bifur in a fight?" asked Kíli, mock-indignant.

"Not a chance. He'd have you flat on the ground with a sword to your throat before you could draw that pretty bow of yours. I wouldn't try taking anything from Dwalin either."

"My bow is not pretty!" Kíli objected, and Thorin could see that Fili had struck a nerve, albeit accidentally. If anything, the younger of the two looked embarrassed, and he could sympathize. The bow was of painfully Elvish make. He wore it slung over his shoulder, touching it self-consciously. "It's just… different. That's all."

Fíli seemed to realize his mistake as well, and hastily drew Kili's attention away from it. "What's that?" he asked, gesturing to one of the carvings he could see etched onto the tip of the limb poking out from behind the former Dwarf's shoulder. The ruse worked, and Kíli looked a little less brooding.

"Oh. That." He took the bow off, displaying it for them to see, glancing uneasily at Thorin. His uncle nodded, attentive. "I carved a few runes on it this morning after a bit of practice," he hastily explained. "To give it a little more character. Make it a little more… Dwarven. Tauriel liked the idea."

The Dwarf-king's expression darkened at the mention of the Silvan elleth, but he gave no response, instead running his fingers lightly over the carvings. A few wasn't the proper way to describe them—many wouldn't have been an exaggeration. It looked as if Kíli had been determined to mark every spare inch along the back of the wood in Khuzdul runes.

There were words like _courage_ and _honor_ and _Durin_. Thorin looked up, seeing the question in Kili's eyes—was it still alright to call himself a son of Durin, even in his current state? —and realized with no small amount of shame that Kili's fear wasn't entirely unfounded. He hadn't exactly been overly welcoming to his nephew. Wordlessly, he assented.

The relief in the dark-haired Elf's eyes was palpable.

Thorin came to a stop when his fingers traced over an unusual rune, one he'd never seen before. Dwelf. Was that what Kíli considered himself?

He gave a gruff snort. It sounded like something his nephew would say.

"So, where is that lovely Elf-maid of yours today?" Fili asked as Kíli put his bow back on.

"She's not my Elf-maid, she's her own Elf-maid," Kíli retorted, looking slightly flustered.

He and Fíli really needed to develop a secret signal for _Uncle-is-nearby-so-we-shall-not-speak-of-that-or-else_, but he suspected that the blond Dwarf's lack of subtlety was intentional. Anxiously, he ran a hand across the still strangely smooth surface of his chin. Nothing on Middle Earth could be more awkward than discussing Tauriel around Thorin.

"She's still outside," Kíli shrugged. Keep it casual. "You know how she doesn't like being underground. She prefers starlight and open sky, as do most Elves, she said." A pause. Then, " Do you think that's the only reason the Elvenking wants those white gems? Because they remind him of starlight?"

The cheer in Thorin's eyes faded, only to be replaced by the eerie hunger Kíli had learned to dread. "I will see the mountain torn apart before I let one jewel fall into the hands of Thranduil the Oath-breaker." He leaned forward, clasping his hands under his chin. "Nothing matters as of now except the Arkenstone."

"Uncle…" said Fíli cautiously, but the warning in his tone went unheeded.

"Kíli." Thorin turned expectantly to his younger nephew, an almost feverish light burning brightly in his eyes. He placed a hand on Kili's arm, the dark-haired Elf straightening with rapt attention.

"Yes, uncle?"

"Bofur tells me you have sharp eyes. Put them to use, my sister-son. Head to the outer corridors. Smaug may have scattered the Arkenstone along with the other coins when he tried to break into the forges. I want it found!"

"If it's out there I'll find it," Kíli vowed, rising to his feet and heading quickly in the direction of the archway.

Thorin nodded, then turned to Fíli. "No one rests until we find the Arkenstone. I want everyone looking."

Fíli dipped his head in acceptance. He missed Ered Luin. He missed the old Kíli and Thorin—especially the old Thorin. There was a time- not too long ago—that his uncle would never make such unreasonable demands of the Company. He was a fair, generous leader. Or at least he used to be. Fili feared that the dragon sickness was beginning to take hold of his uncle. Sometimes Thorin was calm and collected, but at other times he seemed as obsessive and mercurial-tempered he'd heard that described the old king Thror.

What would he do next- start accusing members of the Company of stealing the stone? As soon as the idea rose up in his mind, Fili pushed it down. It was ludicrous. His uncle would never do such a thing; he was simply being paranoid.

He turned to leave, but Thorin stopped him in his tracks.

"I was wrong about your brother," the Dwarf king admitted. "I didn't see what was right before my eyes. As long as I am King Under the Mountain, he will always have a place among us. You didn't give up on him, he doesn't realize how fortunate he is to have you."

"He's Kíli, no matter what. I consider myself lucky that he's still alive." said Fili.

Thorin murmured in agreement. "He looks up to you."

Fíli looked Thorin squarely in the eyes, blue falling into blue. "No uncle," he said, "Kíli looks up to you."

* * *

Kíli swept down the passageways with a renewed sense of determination. If the Arkenstone was out there, he would find it. At least his sharp eyes were good for something—even in the more dimly-lit chambers, his keen Elvish eyesight was like that of a dragon. He could see the small details of every little stone and coin stacked high in the endless piles of gold.

"Mind if I look with you, lad?"

Kíli turned towards the unexpected voice. It was Glóin. The red-bearded kinsman had hardly spoken to him since the whole Elf debacle thing started, and Kíli was unsure of what prompted him to do so now. However, the dark-haired Elf nodded. "Sure. I still don't really know where I am going. This place is so big."

The first part of that statement was a lie-Kíli had been in Erebor long enough now to get a general sense of its layout-but it seemed to put the older Dwarf at ease. Glóin puffed out his chest with a new sense of purpose. "Aye. I can help you with that."

They had been searching for about an hour, meandered out of the hall and into another chamber when Glóin finally plucked up the courage to ask-

"What's it like, being, you know." He gestured vaguely to all of Kíli.

His ears burned with embarrassment. "It's... odd." How could he even begin to describe it? "I miss my beard, and I don't like being this much taller than everyone else." He didn't dare mention any of the mental differences out loud, even to himself. What kind of Dwarf would he be then? He was even reluctant to use the word _Dwelf_. "It was an accident, you know." Kíli said instead. "Tauriel was only trying to save my life."

Gloin made a scoffing sound that was meant to be sympathetic. "That's a crying shame. You're a good lad. You didn't deserve this. That Elf-witch should a' just let you heal on yer own. Good news is at least Gimli an' the rest of yer kin aren't here to see it."

Kíli looked at Glóin sharply, but the Dwarf paid no heed to it, already rummaging through yet another pile of precious stones.

"Hammer and tongs!" He swore out loud as he tossed a ruby off the top of the pile. "You'd think it'd be here somewhere!"

Kíli watched him, a sinking feeling slowly growing in his chest. _Mahal,_ he thought, _they're ashamed of me._

* * *

Tauriel was collecting mushrooms outside when she heard Kíli approach.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"It's nothing." Kíli swept by her, sounding distracted. "It's just something Glóin said." Noticing Tauriel's startled look, he elaborated. "He didn't mean anything by it, but he said he was glad Gimli's not here to see me like this. Gimli's my cousin," he added, "A few years younger than me. Uncle wouldn't let him come on the quest so he's back home at Ered Luin. He'll see me soon enough though when all the Longbeards come back to Erebor."

He dropped his head, looking miserable and defeated.

Gently, Tauriel set down the half-full basket of mushrooms and took his hand. "This fate may not be yours," she said. "And if it is, we will face it together. If Gimli is part of your family, he will see you for who you really are, just like Fíli. But now is not the time to give up hope." Even if she did not fully understand it, she knew what being a Dwarf again meant everything to Kíli. It tied him to his clan, his birthright, and his family.

When Kíli looked up again, there was a flicker of hope and good humor in his eyes.

"Tauriel," he murmured, "**amrâlimê**, when did you get so wise?"

Despite herself, Tauriel felt herself stiffen. "I don't know what that means."

"I think you do." Kíli said, grinning for real this time. A slight pause. "_Nin meleth?_"

"It's _meleth nin,_" Tauriel corrected, before the full meaning his words caught up to her. Her eyes widened. "Where did you learn that?"

This time, the dark-haired Elf was unable to hold back his laughter. "From you, a few of nights ago. When I asked you how to sleep, that's what you called me. I thought I knew what it meant."

Unexpected heat rush to her cheeks, though Tauriel did her best to kept her outward composure calm. It felt though as if her face was burning as red as her hair. Meleth nin. How recklessly, how easily the words had slipped by her. Yet there was nothing she could say to take them back. _Meleth nin_. Was that what Kíli had become to her?

The former Dwarf leaned in closer. "I think it's beautiful. Though in Khuzdul I'd call you **amrâlimê** or maybe even my **thatrûna**—my lady of starlight."

He was smiling that bright, easy smile that made her go weak at the knees. Tauriel stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words.

"I did not think your king and uncle would allow you to pledge yourself to a lowly Silvan Elf." She said at last. The words burned bitter and familiar in her throat.

Kili's expression changed almost immediately, and Tauriel knew that she was right. Despite all her hopes and wishes otherwise, Thorin would not permit his nephew to court an Elf. Guilt prodded at the back of her mind. Keeping Kíli would mean drawing him even further away from the rest of his kin."

"It doesn't matter," said Kíli, though for a moment pain flashed in his eyes. It was gone so quickly Tauriel hardly had time to register it was there. "I don't care what Thorin thinks. I know how I feel. You make me feel alive. That's not going to change. Even as a Dwarf again I'll still want to be with you."

He wore his heart so openly, his voice so sincere. Kíli was unlike any Mirkwood Elf she'd ever knew.

Tauriel felt her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Kíli was not Legolas, and Thorin was not Thranduil.

He was reckless, yes, but so was she.

"Meleth nin," She began, savoring as the spark of joy in her chest caught light. However, that was as far as she got, before something ominous sounded in the distance.

"**Amrâlime**—what's wrong?" Kíli frowned as she immediately straightened.

"Someone's coming. Listen." Heavy footsteps, all marching in file. Sturdy lakeman's boots, and the softer, lighter tread of Elves. Woodland people, much like herself. Tauriel's heart twisted uneasily inside her chest. Was it just her imagination, or could she also hear the tip-toe fine tread of an Elk? Whatever the case, the footsteps were coming closer.

"What? I don't hear anth... Oh." Kili's expression changed to one of alarm as he heard them echo through the ground as well. "What's that?"

"Men." Tauriel replied grimly. "And Elves. They're coming towards the mountain."

* * *

Thorin didn't take the news of Erebor's latest arrivals very well. As soon as Kíli woke him, breathless and wild, the words tumbling out of him in a disorganized jumble, he'd clambered to his feet and woke the others, and the heavy task of reinforcing the mountain's defenses resumed. Kíli had darted back outside hastily, before the wall was built up entirely, hopeful he could persuade Tauriel to join them inside.

Moments later, he returned with the Silvan elleth. His uncle grudgingly obliged.

By midday, the wall was sealed and his back ached from their efforts. He sat with his back against the wall, head titled back against it, Tauriel beside him. The rest of the Company stood at the battlements above, anticipating the approach of the Men and Elves.

Kíli had tried to go up as well, only to be ushered back down.

"Sorry, lad." said Bofur apologetically. "But it's for the best. Thorin certainly doesn't want for them to know that we're harboring Elves within our walls and even if he did, you'd still have to explain your…condition. And we don't want that, do we?"

The former Dwarf reluctantly agreed, no he didn't want to have to do that, and plopped himself down unceremoniously next to Tauriel, placing his head in his hands and resigning himself to a very long, very dull, wait. Fili stood a little further down from the others, closer to the stairs, promising to keep them informed on whatever happened above, but still.

It wasn't the same.

"Be still," Tauriel chided him after several minutes of waiting. Or maybe it was a few minutes. Or maybe a few hours. Kíli wasn't sure.

"It doesn't matter if I'm still or not," said Kíli, and it was true. They were sitting against several solid feet of stone, for Mahal's sake! He was quite capable of holding still when he needed to—Thorin and Dwalin had trained him well after all, but he would rather not. "No one out there will be able to see us from here."

"No, but your constant fidgeting is distracting. I can see you, and you're making me nervous."

"Sorry." Kíli stopped squirming. Still bored and impatient, he reached over and found a small stone discovered on the floor. He flung it as far away from them as he could, and it hit a distant wall with a satisfying ting. "It truly bothers you?"

"Yes."

"Oh." The dark-haired Elf resolved to stop.

"I know what we could do," said Tauriel, only moments later. They knew that they could leave the wall at any moment, but both were determined to wait and hear of what would happen once the Men of Laketown and the Mirkwood Elves confronted Thorin, waiting in equal parts dread and anticipation.

"I could think of many things we could do." Kíli leaned forward, one brow arched teasingly.

Despite herself, Tauriel could feel her lips soften into the faintest beginnings of a smile. "Do I even want to know?"

"I don't know. Do you?" The former Dwarf gave her his best "Elf-stare" as he'd half-jokingly dubbed it, long and inscrutable. He couldn't maintain it for very long though, before his boisterous nature got the best of him. Tauriel didn't say anything to him about it, but it was actually quite good.

"Careful, brother." Fili warned, overhearing their conversation.

The Elf-stare vanished as Kíli looked tempted to roll his eyes. "When am I not?" he asked, only to hastily add, "Don't answer that!" as Fili opened his mouth to reply. "It's fine, it won't be like that incident with Uncle, Dwalin, and the fishing twine in our forties. I'm seventy-eight years old!"

"Only seventy-eight?" Tauriel asked, stunned.

"Only seventy-eight?" Kíli puffed out his chest a little, then deflated. "Let me guess, this is another Elves aren't quite like Dwarves situation." He eyed Tauriel a little warily, curious. "So how old are you, then?"

"Six hundred and thirty-two," she replied smoothly, doing her best to cover her surprise. Kíli was less than a century old? She knew Dwarves had short lifespans compared to that of Elves, but it still came as somewhat of a shock. "I'm still young, for an Elf. I came of age when I reached my hundredth year."

Fíli laughed as Kíli made a choked gasp of surprise. To the dark-haired Elf's dismay, Tauriel joined in, her voice a low chuckle. "Looks like you'll be waiting another twenty-two years before we can go to the tavern together again, Kíli," said Fíli.

"I'm still a child?"

"You're an adult," said Tauriel, stifling—was that a giggle? Kíli didn't know the elleth was capable of such a thing. She smiled more often lately, but when she laughed, it was typically a low, breathy sort of laughter. Like she'd accidentally breathed out too hard, but different. More graceful. Vaguely amused. But never a giggle.

"Oi, what's going on down there?" called Dori, and the three quickly quieted.

"Sure about that?" Fíli asked Tauriel. "Because sometimes I doubt it."

She nodded. "Physically, he is as young as an Elf as he was as a Dwarf."

"So… I'm closer to seven hundred and seventy-eight then?"

Tauriel cast him a sidelong look, green eyes glinting in the low light. "Perhaps. It often becomes difficult to tell once an Elf reaches maturity. But yes, give or take a couple hundred years, seven hundred and seventy-eight would be accurate."

"Hail Thorin, son of Thrain. We are glad to find you alive beyond hope."

From behind the wall, Kíli could hear the clip clop approach of a horse's hooves come to a stop and its rider dismount.

"It's Bard," Fíli supplied unnecessarily. "And Thranduil comes behind, riding an elk." Unease crept into the blond heir's voice. "It looks like he brought his entire army!"

"Why do you come to the gates of the king under the mountain armed for war?" Thorin demanded. Looking up, Kíli couldn't see his uncle's face, but he could easily picture his reaction. Thunderous eyes, mouth drawn in a thin, hard line. Neither Bard nor the Elvenking were welcome.

"Why does the King Under the Mountain fence himself in like a robber in his hole?" Bard countered.

"Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be robbed."

"My lord, we have not come to rob you, but to seek fair settlement." The Man was truly doing his best to remain reasonable, but his patience was already worn thin. "Will you not speak with me?" He asked, after the silence had been stretched for too long.

Another pause, which the listeners down below could only assume was accompanied by a nod. Then Thorin descended the steps, followed in silent agreement by the rest of the Company. Kíli leapt to his feet. In the center of the otherwise impenetrable wall there remained a small opening, large enough for Kíli to fit both fists through. Slowly, almost reluctantly, with his hands clasped behind his back, Thorin walked over to it.

"I'm listening."

"On behalf of the people of Laketown, I ask you to honor your pledge. A share of the treasure, I ask so that they might rebuild their lives."

"I will not treat with any man while an armed host waits before my door. "

"That armed host will attack this mountain if we do not come to terms." Bard pointed out wryly.

Thorin peered sullenly through the gap. "Your threats do not sway me."

"What of your conscience?" The bargeman pleaded. " Does it not tell you our cause is just? My people offered you help and in return you only brought upon them ruin and death."

"When did the Men of Laketown come to our aid, except for the offer of a rich reward?"

"A bargain was struck!"

"A bargain? What choice did we have, but to barter our birthright for blankets and food, to ransom our future in exchange for freedom. You call that a fair trade? Tell me, Bard the Dragon Slayer, why should I honor such terms?"

"Thranduil's approaching," Fíli whispered, terse

"That isn't the only price your Company has paid, Thorin Oakenshield." Came the unmistakable drawl of the Elvenking, sounding nearly unaffected by the entire affair. Only the slightest sliver of triumph gave him away. "Word has reached my ears that another bargain has been unwillingly paid as well. It appears that my former Captain of the Guard did more than merely save the life of the young Dwarf prince."

Kili's blood turned to ice. _Mahal, no_. _How….?_

The smugness in Thranduil's tone was blatant now. "How does it feel, King Under the Mountain," he asked, goading the Dwarf king on, "to be related to an Elf? Do you treat him the way you do the rest of his kind?"

"How I treat my nephew is none of your concern," Thorin growled, voice dangerously low.

"But it is. It is a matter of great concern to me. Why is it that life of a Dwarf has been spared, when so many more other lives have not? What has he done to deserve the gift of the Eldar?" _Nothing, absolutely nothing,_ thought Kíli fiercely. _I don't even think of it as a gift!_

Thorin remained silent, and the Elvenking took it as a sign to continue. "As you know, the Elves were meant to be the first beings in creation. Aulë, in his impatience, crafted his own creations."

"Of course," snorted Nori. "We all know that. Tell us something we don't know."

He was quickly shushed by Bilbo.

" …Your race, which stole our intended destiny from us at the dawn of time. Perhaps this is the Valar's way of righting your mistakes. You took the destiny from us, and now we get to take the destiny from one of you. Would your creator truly watch over an Elf? I find it doubtful. He has passed into the care of the Ilúvatar."

"He wouldn't dare…" muttered Dwalin. The dark-haired Elf shot him a confused look.

"The Ilúvatar intended for his Firstborn to remain with their own, under the dominion of the rulers of their realm. From what I could glean your heir seems to be much like one of my own people, a Silvan Elf. Therefore, by blood, his life belongs to me. Give me the boy, Thorin Oakenshield, and I will stay my hand. The lives of your Dwarves will be spared. "

"You gave me your word!" The betrayal in Bard's voice was directed more towards the Elvenking than Thorin this time.

"I promised you nothing," said Thranduil. "I merely provided aid for your people. My quarrel with Oakenshield has nothing to do with the safety of mortals, but the white gems of Lasgalen. But this turn of events is far more interesting."

_Traitor._

Roars of outrage came from the assembled Dwarves. Inside though, he felt numb. Taken from Erebor by the Elvenking? He didn't _want_ to return to Mirkwood! What if… what if being around all those Elves made his mental transformation progress even faster?

Dwalin cursed violently in Khuzdul. "He's making that up!"

Others joined in.

"Codswallop, I say!"

"Never!"

"Kili's one of us!"

Thorin held up a hand for silence. The former Dwarf shrank back, heart pounding in his chest. His uncle's expression was remote, cut off. And while Kili's mind fervently rebelled against the idea of living life as a Mirkwood Elf, he couldn't help but wonder, should he? He certainly didn't want to, but the Company… Thranduil promised he would leave them in peace if he could take Kíli…

"I will not part with a single treasure under this mountain," said Thorin, and if looks could kill, Thranduil would've been dead. Kíli could've wept in relief. "and that includes my sister-son. Do you hear me, Thranduil? You will have nothing! Begone, ere our arrows fly!"

"As you wish, Thorin, King Under the Mountain," Thranduil replied, coldly mocking. "But if you wish to uncover treachery, look no further than the enemy within your own walls."

"What do we do now?" Ori asked, hesitant, once the Elves and Bard had receded from view.

"Now," said Thorin, eyes darkening. "We prepare for war."

* * *

**Author's Note: So that's a wrap! Man, I really had fun writing this chapter. Poor Kíli though! He never can seem to catch a break... So what do you guys think? Will Kíli or Thorin end up giving in to Thranduil's demands? Would Kíli really be better suited living among the Elves? *Dun dun dun* You'll have to wait and see!**

**The next update should be the first week of December.**


	11. Chapter 11: Preparing For Battle

**Author's note: Hey all! Short chapter this time so it's up early. I hope you all enjoy! Thank you so much everyone who's followed this story, left kudos, or wrote me lovely reviews. Questions and comments are caffeine to the writer's soul. :)**

**Without further ado, here's the next chapter! **

**-NorthAmericanJaguar**

* * *

"You're being ridiculous.."

"No."

"Ori, tell my idiot brother he needs to actually wear it. It fits him fine."

"…It looks fine, Kíli. It really does."

"No, it doesn't. You two look amazing! I on the other hand, look ridiculous." Kíli sighed, trying to tug the chain mail of his hauberk down a little lower. The three youngest members of the Company stood together, examining and putting on the armor the Dwarves had dug out of the old armory. Kíli gave another self-conscious tug, but to no avail. Fíli was right, the armor did fit him—it fit him all wrong. He glanced at Ori. "And you hesitated."

The chain mail was too tight where it should've been loose and too loose where it should've been tight. Instead of going down to just above the knee, like it should've, the bronzed armor ended a little below his stomach. It was meant for the thickset middle and the broad shoulders of a Dwarf, not the thin, wiry build of an Elf. His arms, now much too long, poked too far out of their sleeves. The metal chafed uncomfortably against his skin.

Fili was already pulling on his gambeson— the heavy protective overcoat a striking Durin blue—and fastening the leather-and-gold bracers around his wrists. Kíli only glared at his own, similar looking armor, as if it were all its fault he could no longer fit it.

"Kee. You need to wear it." said Fíli, as if sensing his glare. "This isn't the time to be reckless. You could go search that old room for some Elf armor if you want-"

"No."

Fíli sighed in exasperation, and Ori fidgeted, unsure of what to do. But even _he _looked more impressive and battle-ready.

"Then go look in a mirror. It's not as bad as you think."

_"No!" _The forcefulness of his response took all three of them by surprise. As Fíli and Ori whirled around to face him, Kíli curled his hands into fists, taking an unsteady breath. "I can't… I won't… Not after…"

"After what, Kíli?" Ori prompted quietly.

"The last time I looked in a mirror," the former Dwarf miserably informed them, "I saw myself. It_. _Him. The Elf. What everyone else sees."

The young scribe paused, considering it. "You're not that ugly for an Elf… Are you?"

Kíli shook his head, face burning with embarrassment. "No, not according to Tauriel at least. She says I'm actually handsome… from an Elf's perspective." It felt like such a thing to be shamed by—as a Dwarf, he hadn't been considered attractive, but his appearance hadn't bothered him the slightest. " I don't really care how I look. But then I saw the Elf, and I hated it. I looked in the mirror and… how could that be me?" His voice felt hoarse, although he hadn't been screaming.

Seeing it made his present state all the more real.

Understanding dawned in Fili's eyes, and they spoke no more of it.

* * *

They were down to short strokes.

Privately, Fíli ran down his mental checklist. Armor in good condition? Yes. Knives sharpened? He didn't even need to bother with a question like that. Draw a deep breath and prepare to face tomorrow? The blond Dwarf inhaled slowly. _Check._ Make sure Kíli was prepared as well? _Another check_, he almost thought, but paused. The past two weeks had changed his brother, and not entirely for the better. Yes, Kíli claimed he was ready, but Fili had his doubts. The encounter with Thranduil had unnerved him. It had unnerved them all.

And now the battle. How would Kíli fare in that? His brother was a grown Dwarf—er, Elf—and certainly capable of taking care of himself, provided that he didn't do anything remarkably stupid or reckless. But now was different. The dark-haired Elf was still adjusting to his new body; his coordination and reflexes, while much improved, still remained poorly controlled.

Two weeks was too little time to re-learn old skills—aiming a bow with deadly precision, timing leaps and blows—in a new body.

_"Promise me you will return to me. Promise!" Their mother had said, not ceasing in her insistence until at last she had Kili's word for it. Fili had stood off to the side, waiting silently. She took Kili's hand in hers, and opening it, placed a small object inside. _

_"Return to me," read Kíli, staring at the rune stone. _

_"So that you will remember your promise."_

_He nodded sharply, Adam's apple bobbing. Dís was a blunt, practical, dwarrowdam, and it startled Fíli to see her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Before you do anything, _think." _She said roughly, biting her lower lip. "I don't care what Thorin says, if you are ever in a situation and you find yourself in more danger than what is absolutely necessary, get out. You and your brother look out for each other, you hear?" _

_"Yes, mum." Although he was sincere, Fíli could see that his younger brother was eager to leave Ered Luin. His dark eyes kept darting towards the door. _

_"And for you." Their mother gave him a small knife, lined with what looked like Mithril. Fíli took it from her reverently. "I trust that you don't need a rune stone as well. You have good sense, trust yourself. I count on you, _Azultorak_." The blond stiffened upon hearing his hidden name. "Promise me you'll look out for him."_

_"I promise." Then she drew him into her arms as well. He held back tightly, trying to commit every detail to memory—the sound of her voice, the feel her dark, braided beard against his cheek, even the creaking hardwood floor beneath their feet. _

_After all, if their quest happened to be unsuccessful, he would never see her nor their home again. _

_But like Kíli, he was excited to be leaving Ered Luin behind as well. As they set off down the road there was a spring in their step and a thrill racing in their hearts. _

_They were ready for what ever happened next, they were sure._

_Or so they thought. _

"Look out for him," Fíli murmured under his breath. It was easier said than done. But in the end, neither he nor all of the magic supposedly concealed inside Kili's rune stone had done no good in saving Kili's life. No, his brother had been spared by the will of an Elf and even then, at a price. What was he to do?

_Mum. _

_I need to write Mum. _

The ravens had returned to Erebor, and despite the long years of absence, the clever birds still remembered their job of relaying messages. Fili knew—just a few days ago he'd seen Thorin send a letter, though to where or to whom he wasn't so sure. But that didn't matter, the only thing that mattered now was that he had a way of communication outside of the mountain.

After he finished sharpening his blades, he set to work on his letter. Finding parchment, dry and yellowed with age in one of the forgotten rooms, he sat down to write.

_Mum, _he began, then paused.

Or should he have addressed the letter to _the esteemed Lady Dis and the Dwarves of Ered Luin? _Would anyone back at home find it odd that the first letter sent back to the Blue Mountain be addressed to only his mother? Perhaps he should write the letter to Ered Luin as a whole, _then _have a separate letter sent containing his private thoughts. But after another moment's hesitation, he shook his head. No, it was Thorin's right as King Under the Mountain to send that message. Besides, his worry for Kíli was too pressing.

_We are all alive and well. _He nearly put down _safe, _but decided against it. Instead, he merely dipped the quill back in the inkpot. _Smaug is dead—slain by a bowman from Laketown—and we are one step closer to reclaiming Erebor. _

So many possibilities of what to say surged through his mind, and the blond Dwarf was unsure of which were safe to use. How much should he divulge—the Elves and Men threatening war? Thorin's mercurial moods, possibly even dragon sickness?

In the end, he decided to omit it all. There was no use in worrying her over things she would be powerless against, nearly half a world away. The quill scratched against the parchment as he hastily continued.

_We're at Erebor presently, but not without picking up an unexpected guest along the way. She's –_an Elf, Fili thought—_a healer, and she saved Kili's life after he was injured passing through Mirkwood. He's better now though. _The blond Dwarf's brow furrowed in frustration. How was he supposed to continue this? He couldn't very well write _but now Kee's a pointy-eared Elf! _There was no possible way to put that predicament into writing. He sighed. _I promise he's fine—we both are—but… it's difficult to explain. Come to Erebor. As soon as possible. _

He leaned back in his chair, re-reading what he wrote.

He then added, _Give everyone back home our best wishes, and tell Gimli that Kíli and I are thinking of him. _The younger Dwarf had been furious to find that his two older cousins were going on an adventure without him. Now though, he was grateful that Glóin's son hadn't come.

_Miss you, _

_-Fíli _

It wasn't nearly as good as he'd hoped it would be, but it would have to be enough. Without further ado, Fili rolled the letter up, bound it, and sought out one of the ravens. The one he found was merely a common Raven, not one of The Ravens—the ones gifted with the speech of Men, like Roäc and his line—but there was no mistaking the sharp intelligence in its beady eyes. It extended a taloned leg to him, allowing the blond Dwarf to fasten the message to its leg.

"Erm, thank you," he told it, unused to speaking to a bird, and a little uncomfortable with its unblinking gaze. "Remember, this letter goes only to Lady Dís. No one else. Now hurry!"

The Raven cawed once, then in a wild beating of wings, took off into the sky. Fili watched it go, hoping that it would be enough.

* * *

"I cannot fight my people." Tauriel said, looking Kíli resolutely in the eyes. The dark-haired Elf nodded.

"I understand, and I would never ask you to," he replied, unusually solemn. "I don't think I could either if our positions were reversed." They stood in the throne room, and would've had a rare alone moment under the mountain if it wasn't for Thorin, watching the two with hawk-like disapproval. Swallowing, Kíli turned to his uncle.

"She can stay under the mountain, then?" he asked, hopeful. "Until the fighting is finished? She isn't fighting for Thranduil-"

"Kíli—" began Tauriel, but Thorin was faster.

"No."

"What?" Kíli demanded, incredulous. "But where else is she to go? The Elvenking made her an exile! She has no home to go to! Surely we can offer her shelter. She saved my life!"

Thorin remained dour. The sooner he could remove the She-Elf from his nephew, the better. Out of sight, out of mind. Or so he hoped. "And my answer is no. She saved your life, and we spared hers, even after an army of Mirkwood Elves arrived at our gate. Our debt is repaid, my sister-son. We will not host her any longer."

"But—"

"—Kíli," Tauriel said again, with more insistence this time. "But I cannot fight for you either. I can't stop this war, but I will not stand by like a coward under this mountain while you fight."

"Then where will you go?"

"North." Her answer came swiftly and prepared, and Kíli wondered for how long exactly she'd been planning it. She seemed so out of place in the massive room, her forest green and brown muted against the golden brilliance, uncomfortable among it all. Perhaps that was why she wanted to leave. "I will find Prince Legolas and see if he made it to Gundabad. It's several days past when he said he would return."

"Gundabad?" said Thorin, brow arched. Tauriel nodded but didn't elaborate. The Dwarf king nodded in return. "Very well. See to it that you leave at once."

She bowed lightly, then turned to Kíli. "Don't make me rush all the way back here to save you," she said lightly, but there was a glimmer of worry in her eyes and a tightness around her mouth. The only cracks in her flawless Elven mask of neutrality. "Although I've already done it once."

"Tauriel." Kíli paused. His place was with his kin. With his uncle and brother. At Erebor. Tauriel understood. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but none of it he could say with his uncle present. However, that didn't discourage him entirely. He dug through his pockets.

"I want you to have this," he said, taking out his rune stone and pressing it into the palm of her hand. Her eyes widened and she began to protest, but he shook his head. "Keep it—as a promise. We'll see each other again."

Her fingers curled slowly around the stone.

Kíli watched her leave, gaze never wavering until at last, she disappeared from sight.

"That wasn't wise," Thorin growled, and the former Dwarf bit his tongue to keep himself from lashing back in response. His uncle was drifting further and further away again, into a realm all of his own. _Dragon sickness, _Balin's voice echoed darkly in his mind, but he pushed it away. _No. _He thought. _That wasn't possible. His uncle would never… Thorin was always stronger… _

He turned to Thorin, but his uncle didn't speak. He had his back turned to Kíli, and from the distant hunger in his eyes, Kíli could tell that to the Dwarf king, he was hardly even there. The knowledge stung, but the dark-haired Elf slowly crept away.

It was less than an hour later he caught sight of Bilbo, the Hobbit alone in a shadowed corridor. There was something in his hands. Something…_bright. _Even concealed behind cupped hands, his keen Elf eyes could see it. Instantly, Kíli was on high alert.

He walked so quickly over to Bilbo that the Hobbit had hardly any time to give a start of surprise and shove his hands in his coat.

"What was that?" Kíli demanded.

"What was what?" Bilbo replied, a little too hasty. " It's nothing."

"That. In your pocket, Master Baggins." The former Dwarf nodded in the general direction, acutely aware of how high he towered over the much smaller Hobbit. Bilbo's face crumpled into something resembling a smile. One hand reached into the pocket.

He drew out an acorn. "I picked it up in Beorn's garden. I'm going to plant it in my garden, in Bag End. I will remind me of what has happened; the good, the bad, and how lucky I am to have made it home."

There was sincerity in his voice and Kíli almost relaxed. Until he saw a telltale bulge in the other pocket.

"What about in that one?"

There was that panicked look again. The dark-haired Elf's stomach lurched in alarm, especially as Bilbo shifted nervously. The Hobbit held his hands out in a wary gesture. "I was going to tell Thorin, or at least one of you. So many times I was tempted to, I really was-"

_Hypothetically, if Thorin got the Arkenstone, do you think he'd stop this madness?" _

Kíli recalled Bilbo's words from earlier. But even that couldn't stifle his gasp of astonishment when Bilbo revealed the King's Jewel, hesitantly removing it from its shabby wrappings.

_"The Arkenstone?!" _He couldn't help but exclaim.

"Shh! Keep it down!" Bilbo hissed, glancing around wildly. "Kíli, listen to me. You've got to promise me you'll keep this quiet. At least until Thorin snaps out of it."

"He has been looking everywhere for that stone, and you _withheld _it from him_? _He trusts you, and you've been _lying _to him this whole time! How could you? That stone is our birthright!" Anger coursed through his entire body. _This _was the cause of Thorin's distress. _This _was why the Company searched for days and nights without rest. It was because of—because of _him!_

The gem was mesmerizing. All shining and clear, haloed in a blue light yet the stone itself wasn't a single set color. He could hardly keep his eyes of it. Was this why their burglar wanted to steal it?

"Master Baggins-"

"Kíli, please. You'll only draw attention to ourselves—"

All the color drained from Bilbo's face as he stared with abject horror over Kili's shoulder. Slowly, ever so slowly, Kíli turned around as well.

Thorin was standing behind them, his whole body shaking with fury. "You would _dare _steal from me?"


	12. Chapter 12: Where Loyalties Lie

**Author's note: Welcome back, all! Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter. It really made my day and gave me the motivation to get this chapter up before winter break! A nice little reprieve in between studying for finals. I have to say, this was a pretty exciting chapter for me to write because it marks one of the key turning points in this story, both for Kíli and for everyone else. I'm so happy with the way it turned out! **

**This was also the chapter I was asking everyone on advice on while ago, and so I'm excited to see what you think! **

**Best wishes, **

**-LuckySouthpaw**

* * *

"You." Thorin's maddened gaze darted first to Bilbo. To his credit, the Hobbit didn't balk as Thorin took a threatening step towards him, although he swallowed nervously and curled his fingers a little more tightly around the Arkenstone, drawing it back as if by doing do, he'd be able to keep it from the Dwarf king's grasp.

"I took it as my fourteenth share." said Bilbo, voice surprisingly steady. Kíli still reeled in surprise. Their burglar—Master Baggins, the kindly Hobbit who went with he and Fili when the ponies went missing, who had appeared to want nothing more than his cozy Hobbit hole back in the Shire, who Uncle had seemed to trust most of _all- _he had betrayed them. Of _everyone_ in the Company. It was almost unimaginable.

Thorin must have realized this as well, for when he spoke again, his voice rang with incredulity. "You would _steal _from me."

It was a statement though, not a question.

"Steal from you?" A short, uneasy laugh escaped Bilbo's mouth. "No. I am a burglar, but I like to think I'm an honest one." He drew himself up to his full height—which, as a Hobbit, wasn't very impressive, but admirable all the same—and said, "I am willing to let it stand against my claim."

"Against your claim?" Thorin sneered. "Your claim." _Danger! Danger! _The warning bells in the dark-haired Elf's mind clanged. Something dark and ugly contorted Thorin's features, the same way it had the night he attacked Kíli. Unbridled rage.

"You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!" He snarled to Kili's dismay, lunging at the Hobbit and wrestling the Arkenstone from his hands. It didn't stop there though. Thorin continued to fight, pinning Bilbo and slamming him against the ground.

"Uncle, no!" Despite what Bilbo had done—and Kíli wholeheartedly agreed that he shouldn't get away with it—this wasn't the way to go about solving it. Wasn't a king supposed to be just? Bilbo was wrong, Kíli thought, but he could see how Bilbo's motives were understandable. Bilbo had thought he was _protecting _the Company by withholding the stone.

More importantly though, Thorin should have the self-control not to kill somebody in a fit of rage.

Kíli bent down and dragged his uncle off the Hobbit, Thorin struggling and cursing the entire time. Angered even further, he whirled around and struck Kíli. _Hard. _

It was only a glancing blow—Kíli managed to twist sideways to avoid the brunt of it—but still, it hurt. Thorin had placed all his strength behind the strike and due to their warrior lifestyle and his previous work in the forges, that strength was substantial.

"You would _dare _stand in my way?" The Dwarf King's voice rose in crescendo, echoing off the stone walls and down the corridors. The uproar must've alerted the other Dwarves; Kíli could see them gathering warily around, keeping a safe distance between themselves and the unfolding scene before them. Thorin's gaze pierced Kíli, hot and accusing. "What are you, a Dwarf or an Elf?"

"I'm…" Kíli spied a shock of blond hair near the front of the crowd. _Fili! _His brother stood tense, eyes darting uncertainly between Thorin, Kíli, and Bilbo. At last his eyes settled on Kíli, silently asking, _what's going on here?_

"Well?"

_I'm a Dwelf, _a somehow still cheeky voice in the back of his mind supplied helpfully, but Kíli knew it would not be an acceptable answer to give his uncle. His next—and perhaps strongest—instinct was to say a _Dwarf. _Yet he couldn't get the words past his mouth.

"I'm… " Kíli began again. He felt lightheaded. _This can't be happening. _He was both. Neither. Some strange mix of the two. _"_I don't know!"

"You don't know," said Thorin, and his sharp ears could detect the uneasy murmurings of the Company behind them. Many—such as Dori, Oin, and Gloin—eyed him with renewed distrust. Nori looked disgusted. Dwalin's gaze held none of the anger Kíli expected, but was one heavy with disappointment. Somehow, coming from he and Fili's old mentor, anger would've been easier to bear. Ori looked shocked, Balin weary, and Bofur unsettlingly sad.

Kíli tried swallowing down the lump in his throat. Maybe it would've been better for him to have died a good Dwarf than to have lived on as an awful Elf.

However, any further tension over Kili's plight was momentarily averted as Bilbo spoke up.

"I was going to give it to you," the Hobbit said, gesturing towards the Arkenstone . Thorin picked it up off the ground. "Many times, I wanted to. But…"

"But what, thief?" The Dwarf king's glare dared him to continue.

Bilbo hesitated, then said, "You are changed, Thorin. The Dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word." The Company burglar seemed to gain confidence, his tone becoming almost accusatory as he spoke. He glanced meaningfully at Kíli. "Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin."

"Do not speak to me of loyalty. " Thorin growled. He turned towards the Company, and this time, the dark-haired Elf could see the madness in his eyes. His chest tightened at the realization as his uncle pointed towards Bilbo. "Kill him!"

The Dwarves hesitated, but Bilbo didn't. In the blink of an eye, he snatched something out of his pocket—something bright and golden, but Kíli could feel an uncomfortable tug of darkness—and put it on his finger. Before their eyes, the Hobbit vanished. The Company shouted in alarm.

"What was that?"

"Where'd he go?"

"Impossible!"

Over the clamor, Kíli thought he heard the faint sound of bare feet pattering in the opposite direction, but he said nothing, even as Thorin grew more and more furious. The Company—who only searched halfheartedly in the spot where Bilbo had been—quieted. None had truly wanted to harm the burglar many had come to consider a friend, and there were expressions of secret relief on their faces.

"Enough!" called Thorin at last. "We'll never find him now. Let the Shire rat slink away. He is no longer welcome in Erebor. We must continue to prepare for war. And you." Kíli flinched in surprise as his uncle addressed him. "Decide whose side you're on."

Kíli nodded, heart pounding in his throat. Fili came to stand worriedly beside him as the Dwarf king swept away, and they both watched him leave.

"Yours," murmured Kíli, so quietly his brother could hardly hear. "I have always been on yours."

* * *

A steady sense of determination growing in his mind, the former Dwarf took a deep breath. He now knew what he must do.

That night, Kíli stole quietly out of Erebor. He wanted to wait, wanted to at least tell Fili and Bofur and possibly Thorin goodbye, but he didn't dare. They might try to stop him, and to see them again would be too much. He'd stay with them.

He didn't want to leave the mountain at all.

But he did, and there was nothing in all of Arda that could stop him. The dark-haired Elf paused in his stride. A full moon hung in the sky, the night clear and cloudless, a sharp chill cutting through the air. The breath spilled from his mouth like smoke and for a moment Kíli imagined that he was like a dragon, fierce and indomitable. Erebor lay behind and before him, he could see the tents of the Laketown refugees and the Elf army, and he hesitated.

_I must do this, _he told himself, and continued on his way.

All too soon, he was in the camp. His strange, poorly-fitting armor earned him many strange looks until at last, he was approached by a brown-haired Mirkwood Elf clad in armor and the sigil of the Guard proudly emblazoned in his chest. He called out something in Sindarin, and Kíli shook his head.

"I don't speak Elvish."

The Guard cocked his head, pale green eyes bright and thoughtful. "You must be Kíli," he said, placing a hand over his heart and dipping his head in the traditional Elven greeting. "Well met. My name is Feren Thorndirion. Our King has been expecting you."

_Has he now? _Kíli didn't feel encouraged by this news. Nor did he feel comfortable in the fact that this strange Elf knew his name.

He simply nodded in return, uncertain.

"Come," said Feren. "I will take you to him."

* * *

Mahal, he was actually inside the Elvenking's tent.

"I knew it would only be a matter of time before he sent you to me." Thranduil's voice cut through the terse atmosphere like a knife edge, sharp and entirely unwelcome. "Thorin Oakenshield has little patience for an Elf. He places far too much trust in his desire for the Arkenstone and the splendor of your mountain home. Even the bonds of blood pale in comparison."

"Don't speak about my uncle that way," bristled Kíli, though there was no heat behind the words. There was no denying it any longer. The gold lust shone clearly in Thorin's eyes, how could he have possibly not seen it sooner? "He didn't send me. I came myself."

"You came yourself? I find that most…intriguing." The Elvenking leaned forward, clearly interested, and it took a conscious effort for Kíli not to recoil. "Perhaps you have grown tired of your treatment at the hands of your kin. Tell me, are you tired of pretending to be a Dwarf?"

_Shut up, _thought Kíli.

"No." In some ways Thranduil came uncomfortably close to the truth; but Kíli quickly banished the thought from his mind as quickly as it came. "I came because I have to. To save them." Quickly, another idea occurred to him as well. "But only on one condition."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed.

"You revoke Tauriel's banishment."

Kíli doubted that when—and if—she returned to Erebor, she would be accepted. With him gone and Thorin most likely in the thralls of dragon sickness, there wasn't a chance. However, he remembered the longing in Tauriel's eyes, even after she claimed that Mirkwood was no longer her home. It seemed to be the least he could do.

A grudging pause. Then, "Very well. Tauriel will be exonerated from her defiance and acts of treason, but she will not be returned to her post as Captain of the Guard. If she accepts. You on the other hand, are now a subject and prisoner of the Mirkwood realm."

_Wonderful. _Kíli wondered if he'd make the situation even worse for himself if he were to "accidently" tread on the Elvenking's trailing robe.

However, he didn't end up debating for too long, because at that moment, Bard and Gandalf entered the tent.

Both Elves gave a small start of surprise.

"Gandalf!" Kíli exclaimed, louder than he meant to. He locked eyes with the gray wizard, wanting—no, _begging _to be recognized. Surely _Gandalf _would know it was him, then change him back. He could return to Erebor, not Mirkwood. Thranduil wanted Kíli the Elf, not Kíli the Dwarf. Right? And the Company… things could return to the way they were before. Kíli felt a sharp pang of longing at the very idea. And sleep! He could sleep with his eyes closed again.

Gandalf stared at him for a long moment. "It cannot be," he murmured. "Kíli!"

The wizard recovered quickly from his alarm though, the only signal of distress being an anxious tug on his beard.

_Aye, and a beard. _A foolish grin tugged ever so slightly at the corners of his mouth. He could grow a beard again once he was a Dwarf. And even if it never grew out, Kíli no longer found the idea quite so appalling after all he'd been through. Even his sparse stubble would be a welcome change from the smooth face of an Elf.

He couldn't ask Gandalf to de-transform him at the moment—Thranduil would doubtlessly try and interfere—but the dark-haired Elf vowed that as soon as he could get the wizard alone, he would. In the meantime though, he had to listen to the blasted Elvenking reiterate what had happened to him, from Tauriel's soul magic to Thranduil's outrageous claim on him.

By the end of it, Gandalf seemed almost livid with the Mirkwood king.

"Now is not the time to settle this score! You must set aside your petty grievances for the Dwarves. War is almost upon us, the cesspits of Dul Guldur have been emptied. You're all in mortal danger!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Bard

Thranduil waved an airy hand in dismissal, sighing as he turned towards the dragonslayer. "I can see you know nothing of wizards. They are like winter thunder on a wild wind, rolling in from the distance, breaking hard in alarm. But sometimes, a storm is just a storm."

"Not this time." said Gandalf. "Armies of Orcs are on the move. These are fighters, they have been bred for war. Our Enemy has summoned his full strength."

_Enemy? _Kíli wondered with rekindled interest. Somehow, he didn't think that the enemy Gandalf referred to was the Pale Orc. He shot a questioning look at Bard, but the Man, while grim and focused, looked as lost as he was. Annoyingly enough, neither Gandalf or Thranduil bothered to elaborate on _who _exactly this foe was.

"Why show his hand now?" Thranduil demanded.

"Because we forced him to. We forced him when the Company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland. The Dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor. Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the mountain."

"You can't leave the Dwarves to fight an army of Orcs on their own!" Kíli burst out, unable to stand it any longer. _Not if this "master" is strong enough to command Azog. _He'd always assumed the Pale Orc was the undisputed leader. Thranduil focused his cool gaze upon the dark-haired Elf, thoroughly unimpressed. Kili's heart hammered against his ribcage. No, no, no! This was all wrong. He'd left the mountain so his kin could be _safe_, not so that the Elves would leave and they'd be slaughtered by Orcs instead!

He knew that Dain Ironfoot would soon arrive with his army, but the army had yet to arrive. The least he could do was stall for time. Even if it meant pleading with the cold-hearted Elvenking.

"And why can I not?" The king in question drawled, either oblivious to the ever growing urge Kíli felt to try and strangle the much older Elf, or, more likely, completely aware of the frustration he caused but willing to goad the former Dwarf further.

"Because," Kíli faltered. Where was Fili when he needed him? Fili would know how to negotiate with this impossible Elf. He on the other hand, did not. "Because I will not leave them. I will not hide while others die!"

"You overestimate your value," said Thranduil slowly, with the same long-suffering air of one explaining a simple concept to a particularly dull child. "You hold no power, have nothing left to barter that could possibly equal the lives of my subjects. There is nothing you can do to help the Dwarves. Let go of your foolish attachment to them. You are a prisoner of the Mirkwood realm, and I have already allowed you a boon by granting pardon to my former Captain of the Guard."

"You can't do this," said Kíli. The scattered faces of the Company swept across his mind. Had it all been for nothing? He refused to admit defeat, shaking his head in frantic denial. "No."

"If you try anything, I will stop you. You cannot fight me."

A bitter laugh bubbled up inside him, startling even himself. "I will always keep fighting. For the rest of my life, I'll keep fighting you." _Which might as well be forever,_ part of him added. "But... If you help them—just this once—I promise, I won't fight. I'll willingly go to Mirkwood. I'll obey orders. And I'll do whatever you want."

By the end Kíli hung his head, the words feeling bitter on his tongue. _You're reckless, _screamed the age old rebuke, but this time he didn't bother to deny it.

_Yes._

He was reckless. Determined. A warrior.

Kíli raised his eyes, searching the Elvenking's face for a sign of consent. Prepared to fight if he accepted and prepared to try and escape the camp and make it back to Erebor if he didn't. Everything hung in the balance.

"The Enemy seeks control not just for the treasure within, but where it lies. It's strategic position. This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the north." Gandalf decided to break in, after watching the heated exchange solemnly. "If that fell kingdom should rise again, Rivendell, Lórien, the Shire, even Gondor itself will fall."

Thranduil swiveled sharply towards Gandalf, keen eyes searching. "This Orc army you speak of, Mithrandir, where are they?"

"Almost upon us as we speak," said the wizard.

Thranduil nodded and turned, silvery hair and gray silk swishing in his wake. He knew what his decision would be, and it wasn't at all influenced by his newest subject. Still, Thorin's nephew didn't know that, so the Elvenking fully intended to hold the young Silvan to his word.

So rash and easily manipulated by his feelings, Thranduil almost felt a pang of pity. Almost.

"Go," he told Kíli. "Find Feren. He will show you to a tent and get you something more... suitable to wear." Disdainfully, he eyed the dark-haired Elf's mismatched, poorly fitting armor.

The colors of Mirkwood would suit him far better than anything of Dwarvish make, thought Thranduil, and what would be a more fitting way to take his revenge? He was not a bloodthirsty Elf- seldom of the Eldar were- and while he didn't desire to shed the blood of the Dwarves, he was not afraid to if pressed to do so. But his animosity towards Thorin Oakenshield was undeniable.

Kíli looked like he wanted to argue—he was _not_ going to dress like an Elf—but then seemed to remember his agreement and, giving a curt nod, quickly walked out of the tent.

"Is it really necessary," asked Bard, after a moment's pause. "To take him away from his kin?"

The dragonslayer looked dubious, but Thranduil felt not a shadow of doubt. He folded his hands together, elongated fingers smoothly interlacing as gave a slight tilt of his head. "I deem it wise. Thorin's young nephew will attempt to deny it, but his resistance will be foolish and short-lived. I am confident that within a century, his loyalty will lie with _me._"

He could see the uncertainty still lingered on Bard's face at referring to the span of a century as "short lived," but made no comment of it. To a Man, that may be over a lifetime, but to himself, merely the blink of an eye. He'd been alive for thousands of years and expected to live at least a thousand more. Time was the best teacher for patience.

"And as long as his life lies in my hands, I expect that future negotiations will go far more smoothly. Even if Thorin Oakenshield recognizes the boy's true nature, his heir—the brother—won't. I have seen for myself their attachment to one another. As long as the younger remains my subject, the elder will not wish to war with our realm. I can see any future treaties between us as… _highly_ _beneficial. _Foresight is a valuable skill to acquire," said Thranduil, "once you become king."

"I'm not—"

"Not going to be king? I heard about what you told your people in the wake of Smaug's wrath. You do not desire power, yet it has come to you. I advise you take it, lest another takes it from you. One less prudent, less wise. You have lead the people so far, they will look to you. You are Girion's heir."

"You speak as if destiny were fixed. Like what one wants and their destiny are two separate things entirely," said Bard.

Thranduil smiled his wry, humorless smile. "Oh, but they often are, aren't they?"

* * *

**Author's Note: I didn't want to put it at the beginning unless it was too spoiler-y, but I have finally made a music playlist for when I write this story. I might put some of the songs up I listened to while while writing these chapters in the future. This chapter was inspired by "Short Hair" from the Mulan soundtrack. I thought it was a fitting mood for when Kíli left the mountain. XD **


	13. Chapter 13: Before The Storm

**Author's note: I'm home for winter break so I got a new chapter up quick for you guys! This will also be the last time I'm updating before the new year, so I hope you enjoy it.**

**Without further ado, I give you Chapter 13!**

* * *

Kíli hastily pulled on the tunic that had been laid out for him, no more comfortable with the sight of the bare Elvish skin of his chest and down his navel than he'd been the first time he had been changing his shirt, back in Erebor.

After he finished fastening the thin belt around his waist, he carefully tucked the discarded Dwarvish armor in one of the corners of the tent, hopeful that no one would find it and confiscate it. Getting rid of the armor felt like a betrayal and besides, he would need it for later.

After Gandalf changed him back, he would need something that would fit. Currently though, the tunic provided for him fit perfectly. It was less gaudy than many of the garments the Elves in Rivendell seemed to favor, and for that Kíli was relieved. Mirkwood Elves—with the exception of the Elvenking—seemed more practical and utilitarian.

His tunic, while finely made, consisted of a tough, durable material, longer in the back than it was in the front, ended just above the knees at its longest point and was a vivid shade of green. Over it he wore the traditional armor of the Mirkwood Elves, the shoulders and breastplate a burnished bronze-green and shaped with a swirling pattern of autumn leaves. Despite his shorter, more unruly hair, there was nothing about him that suggested that he was anything more than an ordinary Silvan Elf.

Except for one thing.

Kili's hand stayed to the silver clasp in his hair. That was staying, no matter what.

Slinging his quiver over his shoulder and picking up his bow, the dark-haired Elf slipped out of the tent and into the cold night air.

He kept his ear pricked, listening closely for any sign of Gandalf above the clamor of the camp, his hearing far more formidable a thing than his eyesight at the moment being. Now that he was dressed as one of them, most of the Elves hardly spared him a second glance, most likely mistakenly assuming that that's precisely what he was. Many of Men from Laketown however, watched him with an almost awed sort of reverence. It was a little unnerving, but Kíli reminded himself that they had probably never seen an Elf before, but only heard the tales and legends.

_No, not an Elf. _The former Dwarf caught himself too late. _A Dwelf. _Self-consciously, he pulled a few tendrils of hair farther over his pointed ear tips. _I'm Kíli, of Durin's Folk. I was a Dwarf, and I will be again. I just need to find…_

_Gandalf! _

Kíli caught sight of the wizard, standing near one of the tents and speaking with Bilbo. He paused. So their burglar had returned to Gandalf. It shouldn't have been surprising, but in a way, it was. Kíli hadn't expected to see the Hobbit again. He went over to the pair.

"Gandalf," he said, keeping his gaze trained only on the gray wizard.

"Ah, Kíli." Gandalf sounded tired. His eyes remained bright and watchful within his weathered face, but a frown had begun to form on the lower part of his face, half concealed by the thickness of his beard. As if he already knew—or had a good suspicion—of what Kíli wanted to ask. "A great darkness is almost upon us, I fear. Too few know about it, and even fewer wish to fight it. It was a good thing you did, back in Erebor, intervening on the behalf of my Hobbit. Bilbo just finished telling me about it. I only wish that we could have met again under happier circumstances."

"He shouldn't have stolen the Arkenstone though," said Kíli, remembering what it was that made his uncle turn on him once again. Bilbo shifted uncomfortable. _He shouldn't have taken it, and I shouldn't have found it. Then neither of us would be in this mess._

"Perhaps not. But it is impossible to see what may have been, for even the wise cannot see all ends."

"But you're wise. And very powerful." Perhaps he was overstretching it a bit—after all, the most powerful thing the young Durin had seen Gandalf do was light pinecones on fire to hurl at Wargs—but his heart pounded wildly in his chest. It couldn't hurt to hope. Besides, Gandalf was an Istari, surely he could do _something _about his present condition. "I was wondering if—if y-you could change me back."

"There is an ancient magic about you, Kíli son of Dis. The wizard scrutinized him closely, then shook his head. "It appears have taken root in your very soul. Even if I could reverse it, I am not sure I would. It would not be wise," he said, not unkindly. "For I have not seen such a thing in over a thousand years. Soul magic like this is remarkable… Truly, no signs of fractured energy at all. Your life force is thriving in its new state."

"But I don't _want _to be an Elf," Kíli pleaded, hating how childish the way his tone began to sound.

"I wish there was more I could do for you," Gandalf said solemnly, "I would not leave you as such if it were in my power to undo it, but that is not for me nor you to decide. You were spared for a reason, Kíli. All you must do now is choose how to lead the life you have been given."

* * *

The sun had barely risen, and Fíli's whole world was already sliding towards disaster. Kíli was gone and Thorin was slipping further into madness. Even deep within the mountain, the blond heir could hear the sounds of battle—the fierce roars of the Orcs, the battle cries of the Dwarves and Elves, the clash of steel on steel—and he traced a hand over his blades, longing to rush to their aid.

Was his brother among them?

_Give the boy to me, and I will stay my hand,_ the Elvenking had promised. Chills ran up Fíli's spine at the words. Would Kíli have gone to him on his own, especially without saying a word to him about it? _Yes, of course he would,_ Fili thought, answering his own question. _If he thought he was doing the right thing. _It would be just like Kíli, jumping at a chance to be the hero without thinking it all the way through. Even with that knowledge though, Kili's absence stung like a physical blow.

_He didn't even bother to say goodbye. _

Dori—who'd took part in the second watch that night with Gloin—had admitted to spying the former Dwarf slip outside, but had thought nothing of it. Despite how subtle he tried to be, all of the Company knew about the dark-haired Elf's nightly excursions. Kíli tried to hide it, but Fili could see when his brother began to go stir-crazy, becoming shaky and agitated.

Elves were beings of the trees and sky; they weren't meant to be cooped up for long periods of time beneath earth and stone.

Fíli knew that the first night Kíli spent sleeping outside has hardly been his last, and with every passing day he returned to the mountain closer and closer to dawn, spending more time among the trees and fresh air the Eldar so loved. At least until Tauriel left.

_And now he's gone too. _Fíli pushed his worry away with limited success. There were other things to worry about as well, bigger and more pressing things. Such as the fact their uncle had commanded them not to enter the fray happening right outside the mountain's very walls. However, each Dwarf remained alert, waiting for their king to give the word.

But Thorin still had yet to move from his throne.

Finally, it was Dwalin who could stand it no longer. He climbed the steps to the throne, coming to stand before their king. "Thorin, they are dying out there."

Nothing in Thorin's gaze suggested that he heard the words of his old friend. His eyes remained focused on what lay beyond Dwalin far off in the distance, something shadowed flickering their cerulean depths. "There are halls beneath halls within this mountain," he mused distantly. "Places we can fortify. Make safe. Yes, that is it. We must move the gold further underground."

_The gold? What about our people? _Thought Fili.

"Did you not hear me?!" Dwalin's voice was thick with emotion, and the blond Dwarf could see a vein jump in the tattooed warrior's jaw. Dwalin was barely keeping his temper in check; Fili knew that from personal experience. "Dain is surrounded. They're being slaughtered, Thorin."

"Many die in war." If Fíli could keenly sense Dwalin's distress, he could only imagine how much more so it should have affected Thorin. Yet his uncle continued to listlessly look away, continuing to speak in that soft, hollow tone of voice." Life is cheap, but a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost. It is worth all the blood we can spend."

"The blood of the Elves and Men I can understand," said the warrior with a disgusted shake of his head, "but the blood of your kin? Your cousin, _Dain Ironfoot, _is out there fighting on your behalf and I'd reckon that Kíli is out there as well—he's reckless, and this is just the sort of thing he'd do. He may be a thrice-damned Elf, but he's your _sister-son! _We've both known him since he was a small lad!"

Thorin didn't reply, and Dwalin curled his hands into fists. "You sit here in these vast halls, with a crown upon your head, and yet you are less than you ever have been."

That got his attention. The Dwarf king leapt up from his throne, pacing away from the warrior. "Do not speak to me as if I were some lowly Dwarf lord," he said. "As if I were…" Faltering, as if on the verge of tears. A moment of weakness. "…Still _Thorin Oakenshield," _he finished hoarsely, head in his hands. But in a heartbeat, that moment of weakness vanished and he snapped to attention. " I AM YOUR KING!"

"You were always my king." Dwalin replied, wistful. "You used to know that once. You cannot see what you have become."

"Go." Thorin was present at last, his eyes no longer staring off into the distance but boring into Dwalin's own. But there was no relief in the realization as the Dwarf king then snapped, "Get out. Before I kill you."

* * *

Tauriel paused in her journey, glancing up at the sky. It was still dark, but it would be dawn in a matter of hours. She journeyed across the jagged terrain swiftly—without a horse or without a map to lead the way, for she had neither the money to purchase them nor the knowledge of where to buy them, since the land between Erebor and Gundabad was chiefly wilderness, large settlements far and few in between.

There was still no sign of Legolas.

Her feet were sore. Her legs ached. Never in her life had the Silvan elleth travelled so far, especially on foot, and a trained Mirkwood warrior or not, she was beginning to feel the effects of it. But the pain faded in comparison to her fear, worry for Legolas deep in her heart and thrumming through her veins a pulse.

_Ai Valar, _she thought, allowing her breathing to slow in preparation to increase her pace again. _How far must I go? _

More than anything, Tauriel wished she'd had the foresight to bring a torch. Like all Elves, she was more impervious to the cold than those of other races, but even her fingers and toes were beginning to feel the slightly numb and stiffer than normal as she woke in the mornings, nothing sheltering her from the nightly elements but a thin travelling cloak.

That morning, she'd awoke to the cloak encased in a of frost, the frost stretched thinly across the dark material like a pale coating of glistening dust, and could only stare in surprise. _Of course there will be frost, _she rebuked herself later, feeling foolish in her astonishment. _It's the beginnings of the winter season _Rhîw, _and this is farther to the north than Mirkwood is. _

But she had made up her mind rarely slept during the night. Instead, she used the time to travel, constantly looking up at the sky for guidance, grateful for the long nights she used to spend out late with Legolas—before Thranduil grew suspicious, before the Dwarves arrived in their realm, back when everything was _simple—_looking up at the stars. Those nights had been more than merely enjoying the company of a friend. She'd learned things from them as well; countless, valuable things.

The patterns of the stars. The names of constellations. But most importantly, how to use them to navigate.

She bought no map, yes, but that didn't mean there wasn't one provided for her.

So while the stars were out she would travel, her sharp eyes constantly probing the sky for the next sign to indicate that she was travelling in the right direction. Even if she _had _brought a torch, she wasn't sure if she would have even used it. Running with fire wasn't a good idea at the best of times, even though she knew she was unlikely to drop it.

Her real worry stemmed from the attention the bright light may have drawn. The light would be a beacon to all those nearby, including highwaymen, thieves, and Orcs. So she stayed off the main paths, and chose instead to travel under the cover of darkness.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the galloping hoof beats of a lone horse and rider, rapidly approaching.

It was a clear, cloudless night, but Tauriel managed to retreat into the shadows beneath the trees that flanked the sides of the narrow path. Spindly and gray, the trees stood like sentries, their bare branches casting jagged shadows across the ground, twisted and broken. Surprisingly steady fingers despite the frantic racing of her heart drew an arrow from her quiver and fitted it into her bow. Drawing back slightly on the string, she listened more intently.

The gait was too light for a draft, or any of the sturdier working breeds that the Men in the region seemed to favor, she thought to herself. An inkling of an idea began to form in her mind.

Only seconds later, her suspicion was confirmed as a horse and Elven rider came charging into view. Less than a heartbeat later, she saw who the Elven rider was.

"Legolas!" she called out, stepping out into path as her friend raced on by. The reaction was immediate. Legolas stiffened, glancing in surprise over his shoulder giving a sharp tug on the reins, wheeling his sorrel charger around so swiftly that its feet hardly seemed to skim the ground as they turned to face her, galloping back down the path.

Tauriel found herself nearly face to face with the stallion as Legolas brought it to a halt, then swiftly dismounted.

"Tauriel," he said, and despite the smooth expression he wore, there was a flicker of warmth in those blue eyes. Her fears of his anger vanished immediately. Despite their sudden, almost bitter parting in the ruins of Laketown nearly a month prior, he _was _genuinely pleased to see her. Others might not, but she could see through his carefully constructed mask. He examined her uncertainly. "These roads lead away from the Lonely Mountain, towards a fell place. What are you doing, going this way alone? I thought you chose to stay with the Dwarves."

Resentment simmered faintly beneath the last statement.

"Kíli is well," she said evenly, remembering that Thorin Oakenshield had at last seemed to accept the truth of Kili's identity, even if he still wasn't willing to give his blessing towards their courtship. At the time being, that was the least of their troubles. "I have fulfilled my mission to return him to his kin, and guide him through the early stages of his grief. He will not fade, I think. He's recovered well from the loss."

A faint smile softened the hard line of her mouth as she thought of the dark-haired Elf rolling his eyes at something ridiculous said as he clearly didn't take the comment seriously, the steely light in his eyes as he focused on a target, the way he tucked stray strands of hair behind his ears—on the rare occasion that he forgot to hide what made him so Elvish, not remembering that the habit only served to accent their pointedness in his new state. Of his lips passionately pressed against hers, his hands cupping her face or roaming down her sides, her hands tangled in a dark mane of hair… Her slight smile was a brief one, but it didn't escape the notice of the Mirkwood prince.

"It's not much of a loss though, is it?" asked Legolas, with poorly concealed cynicism. And suddenly, Tauriel found that they were strangers once again. "He's gained everything. Strength, speed, immortality…" _You, _the silent voice added, but neither Elf dared speak it out loud. "What did he even have to lose?"

"He could have lost everything." Tauriel said. _And he still might. _"His own uncle turned on him the night we arrived in Erebor, as well as many of the other Dwarves. As strange as it may seem, he _liked _being a Dwarf."

"Then why didn't you let the Dwarf remain as he was on the night that you healed him?"

The Silvan elleth felt her face heat up. "You know that transforming _Kíli_-" Tauriel placed emphasis on the former Dwarf's name, "wasn't my intent. I knew that _Fëa Evaliir _was an unstable magic even at the best of times, but I didn't know what would come of it. I understood that Kíli was mortal, I never wanted him to be an Elf. I never knew such a thing was possible."

"But now you are grateful for it," Legolas accused, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

For perhaps the first time since he had known her, Tauriel blushed. It was difficult to tell in the darkness of night, but no clouds covered the moon, and her face certainly didn't have its usual pallor. If it had been lighter out, Legolas was certain that her cheeks would only be a few shades lighter than her hair.

However, she regained her composure quickly, though her eyes didn't quite meet his when she next spoke. "Perhaps I am… but it pains me to see him suffering," she admitted, "He surprises me though. Under the circumstances, he is adapting well. I couldn't let him die. You know that, _mellon nin. _There is so much outside of Mirkwood, so much neither you nor I have ever seen, and the Elvenking—"

"Do not drag my father into this!" Legolas snapped, harsher than he intended. The stallion beside him roughly nosed his shoulder, eager to get going once again, and Legolas slipped his hand around its bridle, murmuring a few soothing words to it in Sindarin. Then he turned back to Tauriel, eyes softening. "He may be wrong, but this is a matter of your own doing."

"I couldn't stay, _hir vuin._"

"No. Don't call me that. I am not your lord." What had happened between them?

She then smiled, all her previous fire and defiance faded, but there was no happiness in it, either. "You are my lord, Legolas. You are one of the Sindar, while I am a mere Silvan Elf. You are my commander, my mentor, my friend." A slight hesitation. "If things had been different, I would've fought gladly beside you for all of my days."

"And _only _fought?" Disappointment weighed in Legolas's voice, heavy as a stone.

"I do not know," Tauriel replied truthfully, "but now I have another path to take, and I would not change it for anything." Their love—the one shared between her and Kíli—had been impossible, nothing more than a distant dream between a Dwarf and an Elf. But now…

Tauriel found a reason to hope.

"The Dwarf king has succumbed to gold sickness." Abruptly, she switched subjects, the urgency of her mission bubbling to the forefront of her mind. Legolas didn't look surprised, though his face fell in dismay. "He will not repay the Men of Laketown their share, nor will he give your father the White Gems of Lasgalen. All of them—Dwarves, Men, and Elves—prepare for battle."

She expected Legolas to shake his head over the foolishness of the Dwarves (thirteen against an entire army?) or look assured in the strength of their people. What she wasn't expecting was this.

The Mirkwood prince drew in a sharp breath, horrified.

"Legolas, what is it?"

"Gundabad is rising once again," he said. "They've grown in strength and number since their defeat. That place of darkness is crawling with more Orcs than our people ever imagined, and they too are preparing for bloodshed. Their forges are lit, and every warrior is armed. They've bred all kinds of fell creatures—monstrous bats, large enough to lift one off the ground—and they're bred for one purpose. War. Dark forces head for the Mountain."

"If we must, we can defeat them once again. We have before, at Angmar—"

"But not like this. Tauriel, the last time Mirkwood marched on Angmar, my mother _died. _The darkness has grown powerful."

Any shock that Tauriel may felt as the rare mention of Mirkwood Queen—dead hundreds of years before she was even born, whose very _name _had become somewhat of a taboo among the Elves out of respect and reluctance to further upset Thranduil—was pushed aside as yet another revelation hit her.

"Our people." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "They are at the Mountain as well, prepared to fight Dwarves, not Orcs. They will be caught unaware. The Pale Orc means to slaughter them all."

Friends. Acquaintances. Fellow Elves and comrades-in-arms that she had lived alongside her entire life. Kili's as well. Within a day's time, she knew she might lose any number of them.

Suddenly, it became very hard to breathe.

She cared little for the Dwarves of the Company as a whole, but she couldn't deny that the thought of losing those that had shown kindness to her and Kíli—such as Fili, Bofur, and dare she say it? _Bifur _of all Dwarves—left her with an ache in her chest. She didn't wish for them to die. In truth, she didn't want for any of the Dwarves to die at all. Not from a grim, messy death such as that.

There was understanding in Legolas's expression.

"We must warn them if we can." Quickly, he mounted his horse. And although Tauriel had a feeling that the only _them _he referred to were their own people, she nonetheless felt reassured by it. "Come, Tauriel."

He held out his hand to her and this time, Tauriel took it.

He pulled, and she swung herself into the saddle behind him, gripping tightly with her legs as the sorrel stallion sprung into motion. Even then, she lurched backwards—falling towards the ground for a single, terrifying second—before wildly grasping wildly to Legolas's back to keep from falling off. Regaining her balance, though faintly embarrassed, she adjusted her grip by wrapping her arms loosely around Legolas. He made no comment of it, and she didn't say anything in turn.

She was centuries old, but had only ridden a horse a small handful of times. Tauriel reassured herself by thinking that if she had ridden alone, she could've managed well enough balancing in the saddle with her hands on the reins. It wasn't her fault she had to cling to him in order to stay on when they rode together.

All the same though, it was going to make for a long ride.


	14. Chapter 14: Reason to Fight

**Author's note: Hey all! Welcome back to a new chapter of Blessings and Curses. I just want to say thank you for your patience. ****I know it has been a while since I last worked on this story, but it has not been abandoned. This year I bit off a bit more than I could chew with schoolwork and labs but now that I'm home early because of the coronavirus closing down my school I expect I'll have a lot more time to write.**

**To those of you whose stories I follow, I'm still working to get caught up but I should be done soon. I just wanted to get this story out while the creative iron was still hot! **

**This chapter in particular was hard to write because I'm stitching a whole lot of POVs together, but I had a lot of fun finally getting down to the battle. Stay tuned, because in the next couple of chapters we'll be moving into new and uncharted territory!**

**Let me know what you think!**

* * *

_What would Thorin do?_

Throughout his life, that had always been a question Fílli had asked himself. _One day you will be king, and then you will understand_, his uncle had once promised him, and to the blond heir, that day had always seemed impossibly far away. It always had been, but that didn't mean that Fíli hadn't tried to live up to it.

Everyone had always considered Kíli the instigator of their mischief when they were Dwarflings—and that much was true, Kíli had a mind for trouble in the same way a craft-bound Dwarf had a mind for their craft—but it was Fili who went along with it, Fili who devised his little brother's plan a step further (after all, Uncle Thorin wouldn't be afraid of climbing to reach the cookies on the highest shelf. Uncle Thorin wouldn't be afraid to go hunting for Trolls in the woods while they were supposed to be doing their lessons).

As they grew older, Fíli came to recognize the line between foolishness and admiration. But his fierce loyalty to their uncle remained, even as his relationship with Thorin shifted in a way that Thorin and Kili's had not. More and more frequently, their uncle began pulling him aside for private training, teaching him how to best to lead for when his time came.

Of course, he remained supportive of Kíli as well—even buying him his first bow, even though he'd spent the earlier night arguing with Dís about whether or not it was an appropriate weapon for his sister-son—but he placed emphasis on Fili's duty to their people.

In public, Thorin was typically Thorin, not Uncle. They were more than kin, he was the King in Exile and Fíli was The Heir. In most cases, Kíli remained… just Kíli. The bond between his brother and Thorn remained more of that between an uncle and nephew than between a king and his heir, a luxury that Fili no longer had. At the same time though, he had a privilege that Kíli never had.

While both he and Kíli had insisted on coming on the quest, Kíli had done it more in the spirit of adventure. He'd done so as well, but for him the quest significance also had a deeper significance. It was a way to prove to both himself and to Thorin that he could manage whatever challenges and hardships they faced.

Now though, he was on his own. Kíli was most likely outside their very halls—most likely having gone to the Elvenking. Was he even alive still? An uncomfortable knot twisted in his gut. Their uncle was gone as well, but in a very different way.

Any challenges he faced he would have to face alone.

When you are King, you will understand.

"If this is what it means to be king, then I don't want it," Fíli murmured quietly to himself. He looked up at the great wall that divided them from the battle, then out at the scattered Company, most of whom lingered nearby. Dwalin and Balin stood near the entryway to the throne room, speaking in low voices. Glóin continued uneasily sharpening his axe, glancing shiftily at the wall every so often. Sometime after Thorin left, Nori the thief had disappeared as well.

Without his uncle, they were a ragged, leaderless bunch; too far from home and too tired to do anything about it. Everything about it was wrong—and Fíli no longer knew what would make it right—but he knew that he had to try.

Nervously, he cleared his throat and began to speak.

* * *

Black blood spurted from the Orc's throat as the arrow hit its mark. Without hesitating, Kíli reached back and drew out another one from his quiver, knocking it into place._ Uncle, Fili… Where are you?_ He drew back and fired, and yet another foe tumbled to the ground, dead or dying.

Kíli didn't care which.

The Orc army was overwhelming. Even with the combined strength of Dain and the Elvenking's armies, there were too many. Far too many. Only a few yards to his right, a black-haired Elf was shot down by a Goblin mercenary, his startled cry cut short. Kíli glanced at him, but his eyes, while open, stared up at the sky without seeing. He was dead.

_That could have been me. _

Needless to say, the Goblin mercenary met a quick end.

Where was the Company? Thorin Oakenshield does not care about an Elf, warned the voice of Thranduil, but Kíli stubbornly pushed it aside. No, he does care. Not about all Elves, but about me. All the same, despair crept into his heart. Why were they hiding? Dain and his Dwarves were here, fighting on Thorin's behalf, and they were dying!

Had they been abandoned after all?

At that moment, the low ringing—like that of a large gong, although it could hardly be heard over the clamor—sounded. Kíli turned, tense. Then, so suddenly that many standing nearby flinched or leapt back, the wall to Erebor crumbled. Bits and pieces of shattered stone flew out as larger portions of stone keeled over, forming an even wider bridge across the Mountain's narrow gateway. A cloud of thick, swirling dust rose up upon impact.

The dark-haired Elf blinked in surprise. The wall had been smashed through by a very large bell.

A moment later, the Company poured out. Their voices raised and their weapons raised, they charged the onslaught of Orcs, Fíli at the head of the formation. Kíli stared in disbelief. Where was their Uncle?

**"Baruk Khazâd!"** cried Fili, unsheathing the longest of his knives and plunging it into the nearest of the Orcs. The creature screeched as Fili struck again—this time, not at the arm but at the chest, and a cheer went up from the assembled Dwarves.

**"Baruk Khazâd!"** They cheered in turn.

A surge of pride raced through Kíli. Even if his brother couldn't see him from where he was, he raised his voice as well to join in the battle cry. **"Khazâd ai-menu!" **

_Axes of the Dwarves. The Dwarves are upon you. _

* * *

The throne room was empty, save for one Dwarf. Thorin stood alone, surveying the vast halls, the high-vaulted ceiling, the golden floors of the kingdom of Erebor. He swayed as though caught in a fever dream. _I have been betrayed,_ he thought, the sounds of battle raging on above him, muffled and distant in the heart of the mountain. Treasure such as this, could not be counted in lives lost...

_A sickness lies upon that treasure_, Balin warned. _A sickness that drove your grandfather mad_—

_**Itkit!**_ Thorin growled at the voice that wasn't there. _Am I not your king? This gold is ours. Our gold... Gold beyond measure. I will not part with a single stone!_ The thought brought with it warmth, pride, so much so that it swelled into a blistering, stifling heat, but even then, the stubborn sound of his advisor's voice would not go away. To make things worse, it was joined by others.

_You are changed, Thorin._ Bilbo's voice echoed, and for the first time, the scalding heat inside him turned to nausea. _The Dwarf I met back in Bag End would never have gone back on his word, would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin..._

_To not speak to me as though I were a lowly Dwarf Lord... As if I were still Thorin Oakenshield.._

Another thought occurred to him as well. Distantly, but it was there.

_I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór. I am not my grandfather. I am not my grandfather. _

Dwalin's voice, heavy and choked with grief. _They're dying out there, Thorin. Dain is surrounded.._.

_They're dying. _

_I am not my grandfather._ A bit more resolve this time.

_Is this treasure truly worth more than your honor? _

_Bilbo!_ The Hobbit's voice echoed through his mind, soft, reasonable. Thorin latched onto it with all he was worth. He caught hold of Bilbo's gentle voice as it cut through the madness, guiding him back home.

_I am not my grandfather. _

_This treasure will be your death,_ Gandalf warned, and Thorin felt the room start to spin.

_I am not my grandfather. _

_Take back your homeland..._

_Uncle, you're hurting him!_

_Fíli!_ Thorin felt his heart clench up immediately. How could he have forgotten about his nephews?

He saw Fíli clearly, helping the thing, the abomination—no, Kíli to his feet. Kíli. His sister-son. The darkness rose again in his mind. Kíli, the Elf. Kíli, the traitor. Kíli kissing the she-Elf, forgetting all loyalty to his kin, helping the Hobbit hide the Arkenstone from them. His nephew, coming to him to help, and Thorin's hands wrapped around his throat.

Kíli's strangled gasps, his dark eyes wide with fear.

_What have I done?_

The heat left him, and Thorin felt his whole body grow cold. The room spun again, and this time Thorin rocked with it. He staggered to the ground, sank to his knees. He was slipping, falling, drowning in gold, while the voices swirling around him rose to an unbearable degree.

_Take back your homeland... Be the King you were born to be... _

_I am not my grandfather, I am not my grandfather!_ Thorin gasped.

The heavy golden crown clattered to the ground.

* * *

"What's the plan, lad?" asked Dwalin.

"Still working on it," Fíli gritted out as he swung his sword and cleaved another Goblin in two. The foul creature fell with a shriek. Despite the Dwarves' hope returning as the Company charged out of Erebor, Fíli knew that it would take a lot more than that to turn the tide of the battle. All around him Dwarves and Men and Elves were locked in the throes of battle, and many of them laid dead on the ground. Fíli tried not to flinch as he stumbled over the body of a dark-haired Elf, heart stopping for a split second before he realized the Elf wasn't Kíli.

_Kíli, where are you?_ His heart silently cried, knowing his brother was too far away to answer.

If only he hadn't gone to Thranduil. How was Fíli supposed to keep him safe now? It was hard enough to tell the members of the Company apart in battle, never mind the legion of tall, identically-dressed Elves with their bronzed armor and leaf-shaped helmets. Could any one of them could be Kíli?

_No time to think about it now!_ He thought as an Orc twice his size pounced on him. It roared, swinging its mace, but Fíli was smaller and quicker, dropping his center of gravity low as he ducked to the side and struck his sword into its soft underbelly. Dwalin cleaved it from behind.

"Thank you," Fíli panted as the Orc toppled over. He, Dwalin, Balin, Glóin, and Bofur had managed to stay together, fighting as a group while they slowly slogged their way towards Ravenhill. Fíli didn't exactly know where they were going, but he knew they needed to get towards Dain if they were ever going to regroup.

Thorin should be the one leading them. His uncle would know what to do. Fíli had never felt more uncertain in his life. Despite his earlier cry rallying the Dwarves to battle, the loss of Kíli and Thorin hurt like a lost limb, leaving him shaky and off-kilter. _I have to get to Dain. _

But where was the temperamental Iron Hills Dwarf? Fíli hadn't seen him since the start of the battle.

A sudden shout from Ori startled him. "Look, over there!"

The remains of the Company looked up, over the sea of. Ravenhill loomed skeletally in the distance. From the top of it though, Fíli could just make out what had gotten Ori's attention; three flags hung tattered and ragged from the watchtower. But that wasn't what had gotten Ori's attention. Each of the flags were rigid in the wind. As they watched, the largest flag in the center of the three unfurled.

"Durin's beard!" Glóin exclaimed in sudden understanding. "Looks to be some sort of signal."

All of a sudden Fili knew what he had to do. There was no time to find Kíli or Dain or wait for Thorin. He was leader. Fíli turned to the assembled Dwarves.

"We have to get to the top of that tower."

* * *

"Fili!" Kíli called, although he knew he was too far away for Fili to hear him.

_I must reach Fili._ A new resolve hardened in his heart, renewed energy rushing into his limbs as he was propelled by something other than desperation. They came. All of them. _Except for Uncle,_ a small voice added, but that didn't stop the giddy sense of triumph. They hadn't been abandoned after all. Thorin must have a good reason for not leading the charge. Maybe for some sort of diversion?

Kíli wasn't the only one heartened by the Company's arrival. The Iron Hills Dwarves seemed to gain strength as well, tearing and smashing at their enemies with fresh resolve, closing the gaps between them and falling back into formation.

_They're rallying to Fili_, he realized.

His lapse of attention nearly cost him his life.

Snarling, a massive Orc rushed him from the side. Kíli barely had time to duck its axe, the heavy blade barely missing its mark. He could feel the sudden whoosh as it cut through the empty air where his head had been only a split second before. However, although he managed to evade the blow, he didn't manage to evade the Orc itself.

He collided with its chest. Hard.

Both he and the Orc stumbled, Kíli falling as he tripped over his own feet in a useless attempt to regain his balance and the Orc staggering from the unexpectedness of the blow, growling curses at every deity on Arda to have encountered such a clumsy Elf. However, it still had the presence of mind to catch itself using the axe handle for balance and deliver the Elf a powerful kick in the ribs.

Kíli hit the ground with a pained grunt and very un-Elvish lack of grace, his bow knocked out of his hands. His ribs were on fire; his lungs struggled to draw in breath. He saw the Orc jerk the axe out of the soil, yellowed eyes burning twice as bright in the sockets of its leathery face.

"I think I will enjoy this very much, Elf." It leered, revealing crooked, too-sharp teeth.

_No! _

Kíli twisted around frantically, reaching for his bow as the Orc raised its axe.

"Not today, ya bastard!" A voice cried, the words twisted and stretched the unmistakable lilt of the Iron Hills. The Orc slumped to the ground, an axe embedded in its skull. Kíli blinked at the sight of his unlikely Dwarvish rescuer.

Lord Dain of the Iron Hills stood before him, his armor riddled black with Orc blood and boar tusk woven into his flaming red beard. He yanked his axe out of the Orc's skull.

"Oi, whatcha starin' at, ya beardless sprite?" Kíli flinched as he realized the "beardless sprite" Dain was talking to was him. "Get back on your feet! We still got Orcs to kill! Now where the blazes is Fíli?"

Grabbing his bow, Kíli stumbled to his feet, not trusting himself to speak. Would Dain recognize him at all like this? He'd seen Dain once before, decades ago when the Dwarf Lord had made a rare trip to see Thorin and Dís in Ered Luin. Kíli had been only a young Dwarfling then, but Dain had made quite the impression on him with his big, booming voice and the ivory boar tusks braided into his magnificent red beard.

He decided to risk it.

"You saved my life," he said, but Dain brushed him away, grumbling.

"Oi! I don't need yer help, lad." He squinted at the former Dwarf uncertainly. "Lad? Lass?" He guessed again.

"Lad," Kíli replied, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. Apparently, he wasn't the only one bad at gendering Elves. But the last thing he wanted was Dain Ironfoot, his uncle's cousin and Lord of the Iron Hills, calling him _lass._

"Good." Dain grunted, oblivious to the dark-haired Elf's embarrassment and the fact he was standing in front of one of Thorin's sister-sons. "Then I don't mind tellin' ya to sod off. I need ta find Fíli or Thorin. Last thing I need is ta play babysitter to some damn fool of an Elf."

Kíli bristled for a moment before the words slipped out of him quickly, almost automatically. "I need to find Fíli as well. It's very important."

Dain's glare immediately turned to one of suspicion. "Aye, an' what does a forest pixie like you want with one of Durin's folk? Yer only here for yer king an' yer gold!"

"No. I'm not," Kíli protested, almost immediately. "I don't care about Elvenking or the gold!" _I just want my brother,_something inside of him raged silently. _I'm sorry, Fíli, I never should have left._

For a moment, he considered telling Dain everything. About their journey, about the transformation about Laketown. How he wasn't _really_ an Elf, but Kíli the son of Dís stuck in an Elf's body; so Dain could stop calling him a pointy-eared sprite.

But as soon as the words rose in his throat, Kíli realized it would be no use. Dain was too stubborn. He would rather eat the elaborately-braided tusks in his own beard than believe one of Erebor's heirs had been turned into an Elf. Besides, Kíli wasn't ready to be rejected by one of his own kin. Not after Thorin, not after his own uncle—

Not again.

_I will not hide, not while others fight our battles for us!_ His resolve made up, Kíli turned back to the Iron Hills Dwarf.

"Please." He insisted. "You have to believe me. I'm only trying to help."

"I don't need yer help," Dain all but growled. He looked thunderous as swung his axe at the next Orc. "You, nor that fairy princess you call a king," he cried as the creature toppled over with a screech and a black spurt of blood. "We Dwarves were doin' just fine on our own—"

A blur of tawny-colored fur caught the corner of his eye.

"Look out!" Kíli cried, just as a riderless Warg barreled towards Dwarf. Dain raised his axe, but it was already too late; the Warg sprung at him with gaping red jaws. Kíli fired an arrow.

The Warg fell to the ground with a pained yelp, an arrow through its eye. The great beast shuddered as Dain stepped back from its body, and with a final twitch whimpered and moved no more. Kíli let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Dain looked down at the Warg then back at him, looking at Kíli with a little more surprise and a little less wariness than he had before. "Well, I suppose yer not entirely useless. Though ya still look like one good breeze would blow ya over."

Kíli raised his chin defiantly. "I'm not going anywhere. If you're trying to find Fíli then I'm coming with you." He pressed on before Dain could argue. "I have good eyes, and I know how to fight. I can get us there."

"If you know where 'there' is. I haven't seen him since the start of battle. And where the blazes is Thorin? He shoulda been leadin' charge!" Dain grimaced. "Wherever he is, I hope he has a plan."

He felt a fresh surge of worry for his cousin but pushed it down as he glowered up at the tall, beardless sprite. He was clearly very young for one of his people, with an earnestness in his eyes that Dain hadn't noticed before. This must be his first be his first battle. Dain grumbled under his breath as he picked his way across the battlefield, cursing to himself as he realized that the blasted sprite was still following him.

Nain's bearded ass, what had he done to deserve a tagalong Elf?


End file.
